#A Phantom Caress Spoilers

[revasserium]

promise (to be holy)

rafayel; 1,745 words; fluff, fluff w/out plot, established relationship, kinda?spoilers for raf's lvl 55 affection story, no "y/n", genderless!reader, very suggestive but not actually nsfw

summary: oh, didn't you know? promises are sacred things beneath the ocean...

a/n: @syneilesis thank u for being my lad screaming buddy; this one's for you and for raf the little slut

The ocean has always been a certain kind of poetry, hasn’t it? You smile to yourself as you blink yourself awake and the world is the size of your sunlit bedroom. Rafayel’s breaths are even, his lashes so dark and long they remind you of a certain kind of midnight — the kind that catches starlight in her hair and has magic in her fingertips.

The kind of midnight that inspires wonder.

“If you really are that enamored with me… I can paint you a portrait. It’ll last longer.”

You blush, even as Rafayel’s eyes flicker open to catch yours, his lips pulled into a teasing, sleep-heavy smile.

“I — I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too and you were blocking my sun.”

You try to turn away, but Rafayel is faster, his arm looping around your middle to pin you to him, his breath warm as it kisses the skin of your bare shoulder. He cocks his head, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, shifting so that your eyes are level. The morning light paints his outline in liquid gold, and from here, the shade of his eyes makes you think of all the secrets the sea might keep from the sky.

“Mhm,” you nod, licking your lips, and watching with some satisfaction, as his eyes flick down to trace the movement. His skin is warm and his fingers soft as they press into the bend of your waist to pull you closer.

“Liar,” he says — whispers, before he dips down to graze his lips against yours.

You sigh against him, grinning as you curl your fingers into his hair and tug. The way he gasps makes a certain, unnamable hunger surge within you, pushing you forward till you’re pressing him back into the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips.

“Y-you — ngh —” Rafayel hisses as he tips his head back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his fingers inadvertently into your skin. You cock your head — and perhaps it’s the tantalizing line of his neck as he leans back, straining beneath you, or perhaps it’s just the morning light, falling like a lover’s caress across the smooth of his skin, the soft wave of his hair as it splays across the pillow — dark against light.

“Now… who’re you calling a liar?” you ask, flattening your palm slowly against his chest, reveling in the way his stomach tenses beneath you, how his breaths seem to quicken as you lean down and down and down.

“Y-you —” he almost musters up a glare as he hisses, “bullying the weak…” he murmurs as he tries to turn away. You twist his face back towards you with a finger beneath his chin and watch as his eyes go wide.

“Oh? You think this is bullying? But… I haven’t even gotten started yet…” you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his entire body goes rigid and then soft.

“I — you — I’m not accustomed to the ways of you humans! T-to a Lemurian like me… this is — this is —” The words die on his lips as you lean down to skim your lips along the bend of his neck, dropping phantom kisses on the long line of his collarbone, your fingers still holding his head in place.

“Hm?” you hum, grinning as he arches up into your touch, his fingers digging crescent-moon grooves into your hips and thighs, “this is… what, exactly?”

Rafayel makes a broken, keening noise at the back of his throat as you pull away, a fox-fire smile twisting your lips. You blink down at him, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t you say you were going to tell me all about Lemurian traditions? Why not start now?”

His eyes narrow as he forces himself to look away from you. You can almost feel the heat radiating off him in waves, burning from the tips of his ears all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I — you —” his lashes flutter and you can’t help your own laughter as it bubbles from you.

“C’mon, let’s get up — didn’t you want to go to the paint shop today — oh!”

You make to pull away, swinging your legs off him, but the world tilts as a pair of hands pull you back, and a moment later, you’re being pressed into an ocean of tangled sheets and pillows, Rafayel’s face hovering above yours, his expression caught between annoyance and ill-concealed desire.

“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” he cocks his head, lips drawn into a delightful pout as you try to tug your hand away. He huffs as he pins you down harder, the redness in his cheeks deepening even as he leans in.

“Who said I was starting anything?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him even as he scoffs.

“Words aren’t the only way to make promises, y’know,” he says, and you feel his grip on you loosen. But there’s a tantalizing lilt to his voice that holds you in place, a dark, faraway look in his eyes as he leans back slightly, his gaze grazing down the shape of you, splayed out beneath him.

“Yeah? Then… what’s another way of making a promise?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as he shifts back to allow you more space. You shift and the pair of you find yourself sitting face to face, the sheets rumpled around you like a white-sand beach, the remnants of the night before scattered in the folds like footsteps in the sand.

He looks at you before his eyes cast downwards. Your fingertips itch toward him and you reach out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Quick as a flicker, he catches your hand, pressing his cheek to your palm, eyes falling shut as he sighs.

“There’s… lots of ways to make a promise…” he says, murmuring it against your skin as he turns his face to press a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. You shiver as heat chases up your arm, tingling through your body as you swallow.

You sit there, frozen, as he leans in, slow and slow and slow — till you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

“You see… words are a little harder when you’re underwater, so sometimes we make promises by touching palms —” he turns his hand around yours till your fingers lace, “sometimes… we brush cheeks…” he grins as he leans in further, his cheek brushing by yours.

“And sometimes…” he pulls back ever so slightly, till you feel your own breath catch in your chest. His voice is deep and warm and soft and sweet — tugging you in as the moon on the tide, and you can’t help but wonder at the mysterious forces that might’ve pulled you towards one another in the beginning.

Chance, or perhaps something much less nebulous — like gravity.

Your lips meet like magnets clicking into place, and it’s far from the first time you’ve kissed but somehow here, in the morning light, with the windows of the bedroom thrown open to welcome the sea, the salt hanging solid and heavy in the air, it feels like the first time. You can taste the smile on Rafayel’s lips, can feel the eager way he presses in, tongue sweeping across your lips as you gasp open for him. You feel the weight of his body as he pulls you in, pushes you down, and the gentle give and take of it all somehow rings out against the slow shushing of the rising tides.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless. You wonder, briefly, dazedly, if he might’ve been able to go on kissing like that forever. Do Lemurians even need to breathe? What might it be like to kiss like that and never feel the burning ache of oxygen in your lungs? It’s a dizzying thought, and you let yourself linger on it for a second more before Rafayel’s laughter breaks your train of thought.

“What? Was it so good that you’ve gone into shock?”

You blink, shaking your head as you feel heat wash up into your cheeks.

“No! I — I was just wondering… what does a kiss promise, exactly?”

And at this, Rafayel’s cheeks darken again, but he sighs and lowers himself onto the bed next to you, a finger trailing idly along the bend of your ear.

“Well…” he says, “it depends on the kind of kiss.”

You yelp, swatting at him with a pillow as your stomach flips inside you at the implications. His laughter is bright and pure and sweet, but as you both settle down again, he shrugs, pulling you closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“But mostly… a kiss just promises that there’ll be another kiss.”

You smile, leaning up to graze your lips against his, “Like that?”

He lets out a soft groan before pulling you in, his lips parting yours, slow and sensuous.

“Yeah… just like that.”

“And so… if you kiss once then…” you press a finger to his lips to stop him from leaning down again, “you’ve gotta keep on kissing? Forever?”

Rafayel grins, tugging away your hand, “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

You purse your lips, humming as you feign contemplation. Rafayel scoffs and makes to move away again, but you pull him back, laughing.

“You can’t leave yet! We’ve got a promise to keep, remember?” and with that, you kiss him, and he softens. As he always does.

“I think…” he says, a little breathless as the pair of you sink back into the sheets, “we’ve got a bit more than one promise… but I think we can start with this one…” and he leans in to capture your lips in his, fingers drifting to the skin of your waist. And as the dawning day watches from beyond the window, the ocean shushes itself against a stretch of forgotten beach, water through sand like tangling lovers’ fingers, reaching and holding, pushing and pulling.

And for lovers like that, there will always be promises to keep, and keep, and keep.

pls come talk to me about love and deepspace oh m ygod

[astarionslittletreat]

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

Read on AO3

It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong. 

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.” 

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.  

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm. 

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.” 

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

��Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good. 

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips. 

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a  saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg. 

You curse. 

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. ��Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being. 

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

*************************

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.” 

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

[lady-of-endless]

hi!! can i please request for a cuddling headcanons with law and kid with a fem reader? thank you so much and hope you're having a great day <3

Cuddling headcanons (Trafalgar D Water Law, Eustass Kid)

Author's Note: I've been waiting for this one! And especially for these two. Thank you ❤️ Hope you'll like it!

Trafalgar D Water Law

- Cuddling with someone like Law might feel awkward and uncertain at first. His reticence might be mistaken for discomfort. It makes you ask if he really wants it or not. But again, this is only at first.

- After a few moments, he starts to feel less awkward and more accepting with the sense of vulnerability and physical closeness.

- Law is prone to having nightmares or overthinking. When he wakes up from a nightmare breathing heavily and gripping his shirt at his chest, only holding you close to him calms him the fastest. However, when he's overthinking, you'll notice him laying down somehow far away from you. Leave him a little space for some moments and after that gradually get closer until you can embrace him. The feeling of your arms around him anchors him back in the present.

- Once the roles switch and he is the big spoon, there's no turning back. So get used to how his facial hair tickles your shoulder as he puts this chin there.

- With him, I feel like you're the one to initiate cuddling more often. Not because he's opposed to it but because he's busy.

- He also stays up all night quite frequently studying or planning. So just pull him by his sleeve and guide him somewhere comfy. Of course he'll throw some comments about it but ignore those.

- He looks at cuddles as an opportunity for connection. Expect him to be a little more open in this moment of closeness and intimacy. He'll talk a little more. The sound of his calm and relaxed voice is also oh-so soothing.

- Both Law and Kid were used to resting alone, not cuddling with someone. This only means that it will take a while for them to get used to it. Law will probably be the last.

- He has cold hands and feet. Sometimes he tries to warm them up before getting close to you, sometimes he puts his cold hands right on your back just because he finds your reactions amusing.

Eustass Kid

- Not to compare these two in any way but Kid's cuddles might be a little more comforting, physically.

- Cuddling with Kid feels like a safe heaven because of how he's embracing you tightly in his grip.

- His larger frame definitely helps. Imagine that you were to share a bed (oh this is another good idea for some hcs), a small bed. It will be impossible for him to put some space between you two because of his size. He'll just grunt and get closer to you.

- He doesn't want to feel vulnerable so under no circumstance he'll be the small spoon. (Spoiler: there might be an exception)

- However, until then, good luck convincing him to come cuddle with you. I think it's more plausible for him to randomly lay down next to you without saying anything than accepting your wish.

- Once Kid gets the taste of it and how good it feels, he'll start initiating cuddles more often. He doesn't do it verbally, he just tugs you lightly towards him.

- He suffers from phantom limb syndrome, which manifests pain when he takes off that prosthetic. So, it especially happens at night when you cuddle. Kid is stubborn enough not to accept painkillers. But you can help him. Be close to him, keep his mind off it, caress him, talk to him as you're holding him. Yes, that's the only time he will let himself be held.

- He's so oblivious to how messy his hair gets after cuddling. Don't say anything to him, let his crewmates see and giggle at their captain's activities.

- Opposite to Law, he's a human radiator. You'll probably get sweaty but he won't mind it. He'll just tease you about it but won't let you go from his arms.

[happybird16]

drabble that suddenly had to come out of me no matter what

Aot finale spoilers, talks of scars and wounds, self-doubt

“Do they ever hurt?” you ask softly, meeting his soft silvery eye with yours.

Levi shrugs unevenly in response, replying vaguely, “Sometimes I get phantom pains. Like they’re still there.”

Gently clasping his hand between yours, you bring his fingers to your lips, tenderly kissing all the little calluses and even the smooth, flawless skin at the tip of each of his fingers. You appreciate every little white knick of a healed scar, savoring the unique texture and history they hold. His nails are perfectly trimmed, and the long digits are almost bony, with knuckles jutting out from his skin and veins visible in trailing blue lines along his palm, resembling twisting rivers.

One by one, you kiss each and every finger until you reach the uneven stubs where his index and pointer fingers used to be. The area is still flushed a dark, upsetting red that makes your chest ache. Despite the passing years, the skin remains rough and sore-looking. Carefully, you lean forward, eyes locked to his. You hear his breath hitch as you oh-so-carefully press the softest of kisses to the stub of his index finger.

“D-don’t,” he breathes, shifting slightly in his seat in embarrassment. Something lingers in the soft grey-blue of his eye, something like embarrassment and shame. “They’re ugly.”

“They’re not,” you tell him, pressing another kiss to his shorn digit. “You’re beautiful, remember? No matter what.”

Levi takes a long, shuddered breath, his shoulders heaving with the strength of his sigh. It’s almost like he deflates a bit, the metal of his wheelchair creaking loudly as his feet shift. His face twists, the large now-mostly-white scar standing out against the pale skin of his cheek. His deadened eye can still move, instinctively tilting up to match the other as his eyes meet yours. “’m not,” he mutters quietly, hissing in pain as he shifts his injured knee. “I- I’m so weak now,” he confesses, his voice laced with frustration and pain.

It’s something he’s complained about quite a few times since the end of the final battle. Not only did he sustain injuries, but the end of Ymir’s curse had also extinguished the Ackerman strength flowing through his veins. He has mentioned feeling empty and hollow, almost fragile in comparison. His slower healing is evident from the still reddened skin of his mangled fingers.

Rising up from your knees, you press a quick kiss to the scar along his cheek. “We’re free now,” you assure him earnestly. “It’s a whole new world. We’re not soldiers anymore, and you don’t have to bear the burden of being the strongest. You have already proven your worth countless times.”

As you speak, your fingertips gently brush back the length of his bangs, exposing his forehead. With utmost care, you place another soft kiss right between his eyebrows, dissolving the tension held there. Then another. And another. Each kiss conveys a message of love and acceptance, a reminder that his worth extends far beyond physical strength.

Levi’s breath hitches again, this time from a mixture of relief and vulnerability. The sound is a bit wet, and there’s a telling moisture welling in the corners of his eyes. He struggles to find the words to respond, mouth opening and closing several times as his shoulders stiffen once again. His eyes, one vibrant and the other dulled by past wounds, seek yours, their depths reflecting the emotions he struggles to express.

“‘m not,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a mix of pain and self-doubt. The fingers of his free hand instinctively reach for his injured knee, a reflex born from habit and discomfort. His voice sounds so small and hollow, “I- I’m broken.”

“No,” the word comes out sharper and louder than you intended, startling the both of you. “No. No you aren’t.” Your hand gently caresses his, providing a sense of comfort and reassurance. “Strength doesn’t define you,” you emphasize, your voice filled with conviction. “And your injuries don't either. I know you feel different now.. powerless.. but you possess a strength that transcends physical abilities. It’s in your resilience, your compassion, and the love you carry within you. That strength will always shine through, no matter what.”

A long, shuddered breath escapes Levi’s lips as he absorbs your words. His shoulders, burdened by the weight of his perceived weakness, begin to ease. The metal of his wheelchair creaks as his feet shift unsteadily. He swallows heavily, eyes falling from yours to stare at the fabric of the dark slacks covering his thigh.

Pinching his chin between your fingers, you urge his gaze to meet yours yet again. “We’re building a new life together,” you continue, a hint of playfulness entering your voice. “We’re not soldiers anymore. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders. Instead, let’s focus on chasing out those rude customers from our little tea shop. And if you ever say anything self-deprecating again, well, I’ll be there to shower you with kisses until you realize just how incredible you are.”

Levi’s lips curve into a small, vulnerable smile, the barriers of self-doubt slowly crumbling away. The moisture in his eyes finally spills over, tracing glistening paths down his cheeks. “You would,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with fondness and amusement.

[gingernut1314]

Touch Me, Please pt. 2

Polnareff x GN!Reader

Summary: How Part 5 Polnareff likes to be touched

Warnings: jjba part 5, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 29-39, phantom pains, feel-good fluff

Word Count: HC: 980+, Drabbles: 290+ & 400+, Total: 1.6K

A/N: sorry for reposting this. I accidentally deleted it 💀 anyway....here it is again and I hope you enjoy!!

↞ to Touch Me Masterlist | Jjba Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ part 1

Polnareff is a very very proud man

He’s proud of his hair, his personality, his actions, and most of all his body

He has spent years training and exercising to get it in the peek condition it is in

But now, after Daviolo’s attack, his pride was torn so much worse than his body

So don’t be hurt when he turns away your touches and just wants to be alone during much of his recovery

In his mind, he is less than what he once was and you wouldn’t want a man who was defeated as such

But sit beside him as much as he allows, talk softly to him, tell him how much you love him, bring him his meals

He’ll even try to refuse your help to use the restroom or get in/out of bed. He finds he needs to do these things by himself to prove he isn’t as broken as he is

He’ll only ask for your help on occasion, but mainly to tuck him in at night

But after a while (...probably just a week or so cause this man just needs touch in his life) he’ll softly take your hand in his at breakfast

And he won’t let go until you physically have to for one reason or another

He still won’t let you touch his right hand or his legs or even the scar over his eye

But please caress his cheeks and neck and shoulders and back

Give him all the kisses you want

You’ll slowly start to see his goofy and charming personality peek out from the seriousness he had fallen into because your touch is slowly beginning to heal him

And after a few weeks of these touches, he’ll slowly start to feel his resolve melt and he’ll reach out to feel over your cheek with his prosthetic hand

He’ll allow you to cup it within your own 

Allow you to turn your face to place a soft kiss to the inside of his palm, the robotic hand the Speedwagon Foundation had somehow been able to sneak into the country surprisingly warm against your lips

After that any and all touch is back on the table

He’ll let you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers trailing over it and touching prosthetic here and there

He’ll allow you to help him take on and off his prosthetic legs before getting in and out of bed

Pleaseeeee cuddle the man at night

Pleaseeeee

Kiss his face, rub circles into his back, and hold him close as he falls asleep

While cuddling, don’t be surprised if you feel his hand run over your leg to pull it over his thighs or waist

Because while he used to be able to all but cage you in with his body, he can only truly do that with his arms now so he will be doing everything in his power to keep you close

If he struggles with phantom pains, you are sure to read up and look into how you can help 

One way is to message the limb which makes Polnareff a little panicky, seeing as he still struggles with allowing you to touch his legs and arm

But the pain gets so blinding sometimes he doesn’t have the fight in him to deny you any longer

Your fingers are like heaven, relieving him of his pains with precious and accuracy

When you pull your hands away after some time, he’s grabbing them up and showering them in thousands upon thousands of kisses

Kisses that always end up trailing up your arms to find your lips

He will pull you into his lap and wheel you both around the village’s small hospital

He will not let you up until you need to be standing

Doesn’t really like it when you push him around, preferring the sitting in his lap method, but because he loves you and if he really needs help, he’ll allow it

Always be sure to kiss the back of his neck or cheek before, during, and after though

Lots and lots and LOTS of lap-sitting 

Like you are glued in his lap 24/7

You’ll hold his computer while he does research into the arrow and into those that could help you both defeat Diavolo

Polnareff will rest his chin on your shoulder as he does his research, placing kisses here and there on your cheek and neck that make your skin spark

“I’ll go bring the car around to the front, okay?” You said, after packing what little belongings the both of you held. After months and months of recovery, Polnareff was finally ready to leave the small hospital he had been admitted to and you both were very much ready to leave. “I’ll be right--” A hand grabbing yours had you pausing to look back and find Polnareff sitting there, eyes full of determination.

“We’ll go together to get the car.” He said, lightly tugging on his hand in a way he had done hundreds of times while here at the hospital. You knew exactly what the silent command meant.

“It’ll be faster if I go alone to get the car.” You said, but your feet were carrying you closer to the man you loved. 

“Since when do we do things alone, mon amour?” He responded, a small smile on his lips. You smiled right back, leaning down so you could look more deeply into his gray eyes. 

“Never.” You placed a soft kiss to his lips that had him bringing his other hand up to cup your cheeks, fingers feeling over the skin there in a way that had your heart fluttering like crazy. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Polnareff said once you pulled away from the kiss. He tugged at your hand again and you followed his guidance to sit in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he began to push you both towards the door. “And please, mon coeur, let us find a place with a decent bathroom. This one was just frightful.” You chuckled planting a smacking kiss on his cheek that had a slight blush dusting over his fair skin.

“Anything for you.” 

!!SPOILERS FOR POLNAREFF'S ENDING!!

So….he’s a turtle now

That’s okay because you don’t care

And you still kiss the top of his little head and pet his shell

Carry him around in your arms

Hug him

Put him in a purse like a chihuahua and pet his little head as you walk around Italy

He can manifest his…body? Spirit? Inside the little room so you can hop in there any time you wish to hang out with him. He can do this because I say he can

You can still physically touch him inside of the little room….because I said so….

He can also change his appearance throughout the years he has been alive BECAUSE I SAID SO AND ANYTHING ELSE IS TOO SAD 

So he’s able to walk up to you, pick you up, and spin you around as he litters kisses to your face

Expect to not really leave the room for a while because his death still haunts him

He’s gonna be so scared his soul might pass on without you, so he’s holding onto you extra tight

The inside of the room is your home now btw 

Will sometimes reach a ghostly hand outside of the turtle to try to hold your hand

I don’t think he would be able to touch you outside of the turtle cause….he’s a ghost…so you can 100% reach your hand inside of the key to hold his hand during a business meeting or out and about

“Oh, what a cute little pet turtle you have there.” A person passing you in the street cooed, stopping you and Polnareff on your way to meet with Giorno. “I used to have a turtle just like this.” They said, reaching a hand out to pet Polnareff’s head from where it peeked out of the purse you carried. 

“Hey!” You snapped, slapping the person’s hand away in the blink of an eye. “Don’t you dare touch my husband.” You hissed, placing a hand over his head to further protect him.

“W-what the hell? What--” But you are storming away before they can finish. 

“You know, I think half of Italy thinks you’re crazy.” Polnareff chuckles, reaching a ghostly hand out to pass it through the one still covering the turtle's head. The feeling was always strange, but it was warm and familiar. He did this in way of letting you know he wanted to hold your hand. To silently beg you to touch me, please. You were more than glad to reach a hand into the key’s red portal to hold it. 

“They think you believe that you have married a turtle.” He chuckled like he believed the situation was completely humorous. 

“I have married a turtle. You are a turtle.” You grumbled, still annoyed that person had tried to touch him. The gall of them.

Polnareff tugged at your hand, dragging your arm further into the hidden room on the turtle's back. You felt his lips kiss the inside of your wrist, traveling further and further upward. Lips that ever so slowly eased the sharp annoyance in your chest.

“Do not remind me, mon amour.” He grumbled, pulling gently at your hand again. You paused in your travels as you took your hand back from him. You heard Polnareff huff at the absence of your hand, but it was quieted as soon as you shoved your head into your bag, it appearing inside the little room hidden away in the key on the turtle’s back. 

Polnareff stood on a chair, his frown turned into the brightest, goofiest smile you couldn’t help but match upon seeing your face. He stood on his tippy toes, cupping your cheeks in his hands before placing a quick kiss to your lips. 

….all anyone on that street saw was you with your head in a bag, voice muffled by the material as you talked to….was that a turtle?

[leftoverdinosaurbones]

Chapter 3: The Illusion of Choice

F!Reader (Dark Urge), Spawn Astarion, Haarlep, Raphael - series is NSFW (minors DNI)

[Major Spoilers - Set post BG3]

***

Here is the next chapter of the fanfic I've been working on, featuring one of my absolute favs - Raphael <3

You can read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here on tumblr or on Ao3.

Content Warning: manipulation, power imbalance, kidnapping (of adults) - let me know if I've missing anything here, please!

Summary: As requested, you travel to the House of Hope to see what Raphael wants to share with you. You are a bit worried though, since your last visit there went... much worse than expected.

Chapter 3: The Illusion of Choice

The House of Hope emerges before you, the red hues and shadows from the dimly lit atmosphere, coupled with the unsurprising smells of fire and brimstone, lightly masked by cherries. Anxiety burns in your stomach, feeding on a multitude of worries. You wonder whether it was wise to come here without telling Astarion, or any of your friends. Nervous about seeing Raphael after all this time, how different he might be with his new power. You recall the last time you were here, the smell of the place bringing you viscerally back to the most painful moments of the memory as it fills your senses.

Raphael’s face crowds your mind, his skin red and face adorned with horns. His features are contorted in anger - at you . He towered over you, crowding your space, forcing your back against the wall. Wings flexed and spread menacingly, he made you feel so small, alone, and quite frankly, stupid. His smell, now more sulfur than the pleasant cherries, assaulted your nostrils as you truly started to realize the magnitude of your actions.

“So you tried to come here, to my house, on your own. To what end? For what purpose?” he snarled, pupils blown. “Certainly, you already have what you need from me. And I cannot possibly imagine you’d be so incredibly foolish to try to take something from my home or - even more idiotic- to consider breaking our deal.

“You, with your divinity power” he spit, sneering with disgust, “knowing that it doesn’t stand a chance against me. So if this isn’t the reason why you are here, then tell me, little mouse . Why have you so brazenly decided to break into my home?”

Korrilla intercepts you, releasing you from the vice grip of the memory.

“Wise of you to show up so quickly. This time, you are expected. I imagine you’ve learned your lesson though, am I right?” One side of Korilla’s lips curled up in a vicious smirk.

“Here, take this pass. Raphael will meet you in the Boudoir when he is ready.” Korilla hands you the pass and quickly vanishes from sight, eager to be out of your company.

***

Haarlep quickly catches your eye when you pass through the Boudoir door, as they lounge in the restoration pool in your recently used form. You wince as they emerge, dripping, to approach you - finding it so incredibly odd to see yourself in this way. Haarlep trills at your visible discomfort, energized by a new victim to torment.

“It was so nice to enjoy you again, though this time was a bit different than our last rendevous.” Haarlep’s hands slowly worked up and down your - their - bare skin as they continue to slink towards you. Their gentle caresses begin to weaken your resolve, soothing your own anxious thoughts that filled your head only moments earlier.

Haarlep grabs your hands (how did they get so close to you?) and leads you to the bed. You began to argue with yourself, part of you trying to will yourself to stop while the other was begging you to give in.

Haarlep pushes you down to sit on the edge of the bed as they change into their Raphael form, placing their arms on either side of you to look directly into your eyes. The part of you that protests falls silent, too quickly. Your body remembers the phantom pangs of pleasure from earlier, and aches from missing the real thing. You feel your body start to arch up towards Haarlep, embarrassingly desperate for their touch. Your hands fly up to their chest, the warmth of their body emanating through your hands as you greedily explore their body.

“My, my, aren’t we eager?” Haarlep hums, amused at your reaction.

They bury their face in your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses from the dip in your clavicle up to your ear. A shiver courses through your body and you pull them on top of you, pressing your body flat against the bed. You wrap your legs around their waist, binding them flush against your body with a fierce need. You tangle your fingers in their hair, letting a soft moan escape your lips as they continue to worship your neck.

“Wouldn’t it be so nice to have this all the time?” Haarlep murmured in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “If you just make one small little agreement with me, we could have so much fun together.”

Haarlep pulled away from your neck to look at you, bringing a finger to pull down over your lips before sinking into a kiss. First, just with their lips but then opening their mouth to bite your lower lip before exploring your mouth with their tongue. You melted into their kiss, arching further into their body, pressing your hips tighter into theirs. For some reason, their ideas were really starting to make good sense…

Haarlep broke away from the kiss, leaving you feeling empty for just a moment as they transitioned back to your neck. Their hand started to dip below your shirt to explore your chest, and you realized you were holding your breath.

“Oh, I would so treasure you, little mouse. Treat you so much sweeter than Raphael would, we both know that.”

This comment jars you out of your delightful stupor. You put your hands against their chest and unwound your legs to try to straighten back up to ask what they mean by this. As you look to get back up, another figure becomes clear from behind Haarlep.

You blink - and blink again. Raphael comes into focus. You aren’t sure how long he has been there, just…watching. But there he sits, looking at you, clearly pleased with himself. Surely it has something to do with how fast you ran to him when summonsed, especially after our last encounter here at his house. A scowl spreads across your face as you realize how far you’ve fallen - at how quickly you’ve lost your confident self-reliance. Now look at you, stumbling over yourself to come when called.

Haarlep releases you so you can sit up on the edge of the bed. Your scowl falls away as you feel the immense power coursing from Raphael, magnified by the crown. You are reminded of when you stood in the overwhelming presence of the Netherbrain, willing yourself to be strong enough to stand up to its force but instead failing, miserably.

Raphael stands, his hands superfluously smoothly his perfect overcoat. He looks wistfully somewhere past you, towards something you can’t see in the distance.

“I am sure you are wondering how my war is going.” He doesn’t pause long enough for a response - he isn’t looking for one.

“Thanks to your renewed support and cooperation in my campaign, things are going so very well. In just a short time, I will be at Zariel’s door to take her down and secure the leadership of Avernus. She is hemorrhaging her supporters by the day.” He scoffed at her weakness. “It will only be a matter of time before she will fall before me.”

His gaze turns back to you, his eyes hot and piercing, like he can skewer you in just one look. You try to hold his gaze, an attempt to bolster your own strength more than to intimidate him. That was challenging to do before, but virtually impossible now. Because of you. He is the powerful monster that stands before you now because of your doing, your decisions. You shut your eyes tight and shake your head, severing eye contact to try to remove the darkness that clouds your thoughts - to shake away the guilt.

A clawed finger traces up from the bottom of your neck to your chin, lifting up your face. Your eyes spring open in response, surprised by the sudden touch and closeness. You’ve never been so close to Raphael and now, he is holding your face in his hand.

“You may be wondering why I’ve invited you here, little mouse. You see, despite everything, I still find our particular...situation… to be quite valuable.” His finger traced back down to the base of your throat.

“Now, of course, when people come to my house to try to make a mockery of me, I don’t tend to show mercy.” His hand suddenly gripped your throat, with a threatening squeeze that took your breath away with a gasp. This was certainly a more direct approach than you were used to in your dealings with Raphael in the past. You weren’t sure what changed him more - the Crown or your escapade.

“But fortunately for you, I find you much more useful to me alive. For now. And you did make good on your promise and delivered the Crown, my most cherished client.”

He released his grip around your throat and brought his hands back to his coat as you took in a greedy gulp of air. Is it possible that... a twisted part of you even liked it? You tried to stifle your arousal. You glanced quickly toward Haarlep, saw his mischievous grin, and knew your secret was out.

Raphael causally leaned back against a wardrobe. “I invited you here to offer you another deal.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Before you throw another one of your tantrums, you might want to listen to this one. Your friends, Karlach and Wyll, have been captured by Zariel.”

You lept off the bed. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you lead with that?!” You chastised the Devil, consumed by a rage that re-ignited your confidence.

Your mind raced, thinking of Karlach back in the clutches of Zariel again. Any Wyll, dangled in front of Mizora, so soon after finally getting free of her clutches. How long would he be able to wait before making another deal with her? Especially if it was to save Karlach? He’s too good for his own good.

You scowled, pacing the floor in front of Raphael in quick steps, your rage threatening to bust through the seams of your skin. The injustice of it all pained you to your very soul, resonating with your nearly dormant values as a vengeance-sworn paladin. You would simply do anything for the people you loved, who are trapped in this cruel and twisted way.

“Hmm,” Raphael nearly purred with content at your response, though you barely registered his response as your mind raced with violence and plans of escape.

“I, of course, feel so terribly sorry for you.” His voice was thick with feigned concern, practiced throughout a lifetime of manipulating mortals. “Unfortunately, I can’t just go out there to directly save them from their fate. I’m in the midst of a war, as you know. However, I do see a very interesting opportunity for both of us. And we do make quite the team together. How can I pass up the opportunity to work with my most favorite client?”

“Let’s get on with it. My friends are suffering while you are playing this self-indulgent mind game with me,” you fumed, fully consumed by your own plans for revenge.

“Tut tut, dear. Please, I have been so anticipating us meeting again. I would hate for you to disappoint me, again. It would be good for you to remember who you are speaking with, and your place.”

With a snap of his fingers, you felt a tremendous force pressing down on your entire body, shoving you to your knees in front of him. Your racing thoughts immediately came to a halt as you attempted, in vain, to twist back up to your feet. Your face turned a deep shade of red, though you were sure if it was from embarrassment, anger, or…something else.

Raphael smiled and ran one of his hands roughly through your hair, yanking your head back to look at him directly in his eyes. Your scalp was sensitive from the rough treatment only a few hours earlier (from the same hands? no, that’s not possible). Tears sprung to your eyes but you blinked them away, willing yourself with every fiber of your being to maintain eye contact.

Somewhere in the near distance, Harleep laughed darkly, appreciative of how much you clearly enjoyed this treatment.

“Mmm, much better,” Raphael laughed to himself, releasing his hold on your hair. “It is good to see this fire back in your spirit again - we hadn’t seen it in a while. And you will certainly need it in order to save your friends.”

Raphael took his place back, leaning against the wardrobe. “I can help you take on Zariel. I know you’ll need help, since you know how ineffective Divine damage will be.” He sneered down at you, proud of himself.

You held eye contact. “And you are just doing this out of the kindness of your heart, yes?” your voice full of malice.

“Well no, of course not. It’s only fair that we should both gain something from our arrangement, right? But I won’t be sharing details until we have an official agreement.”

You sigh. He’s right, you need all you can get for support. Still, you try to clarify - “My soul…?” You leave the rest of the sentence hanging.

“No, I don’t have to ask for that yet, my little mouse.” He bends down to meet you face-to-face, then moves to whisper in your ear. “Though I have a feeling you’ll be begging me to have your soul sometime soon.” The words send a shiver down your spine, a foreboding mix of curiosity and… desire? No. That can’t be it.

“Okay” you sigh, “I’ll take the deal”.

“Excellent!” Raphael claps his hands as a contract appears in mid-air for you to sign. You feel the invisible weight disappear from your shoulders, allowing you to stand and sign the agreement.

“I am so glad to be working together again, my dear. Remember what I told you back in Sharess’ Caress? I do like you. How could I not? Even with our ups and downs. Maybe a future deal could be worked out, and I can give you something else you need - perhaps a cure that you’ve been looking for?”

Your breath catches in your throat. A cure - for Astarion? Before you can say a word, Raphael continues with his speech, barely letting a beat go by.

“Now, I would be quite interested in hearing what you’d be willing to exchange for something as valuable as that…something you can think about.” Raphael turned on his heel and walked out of the Boudoir.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air. You didn’t realize how much space Raphael squeezed out of the room with his presence now, how much pressure he could create in the atmosphere. You were also completely overwhelmed by the news of your friends, the deal you just made, the weight of your ever-present guilt, Astarion…

You pressed your hands against your temples, massaging, trying to find some relief. You were reminded of Haarlep as they slipped their hands on your shoulders, thumbs pressing circles into muscles bound tight by tension.

They lean in to purr in your ear. “You know, Raphael did so enjoy using your body earlier today. You could think about that as inspiration for your future agreement with him. Or, of course, you could make an agreement with me instead.” They spun you around and kissed you, giving you no time to think or to push them away. They open their mouth to devour you in a deep, hungry kiss.

You can read the next chapter here.

[likethelightfromorionabove]

The Exquisite Heat of a Dying Star: Chapter One

Characters/ Character Pairings: Dark Urge/Enver Gortash, Dark Urge/Astarion, Gale, Karlach

SPICE Rating: 3/5 While the focus of this fic isn't smut it is present and very plot relevant.

Chapter Content Warnings: Mild Choking, Mild knifeplay, Sexual content, Violent Dark Urge ideations, general Durgetash nastiness, heavy angst, infidelity  

Spoilers: Act 3, Dark Urge Plot Line

Canon Compliance: While I am very committed to keeping the characters in character, this is a reimagining of the events of Act Three and the post game had Durge decided to return to Gortash's side and save him from himself. So after a certain point, the canon is dead.

Other Notes: “The assassin” AKA durge in this fic is nonbinary, AFAB anatomy. If you prefer to read on AO3 you can find this chapter here.

Songs on Repeat:

Family Tree by Ethel Cain

Give myself up to him an offering

Let him make a woman outta me

Let Christ forgive these bones I've been hiding

And the bones I'm about to leave

Bad Timing by Blindlove

I swear this isn't like me

Give it up and I'll sink to the bottom

But I'll be here waiting for you

This love is unlikely

Let's blame it on bad timing

Smut below the cut dolls! Enter at your own risk!

The archduke’s dark eyes on them could only be described as hungry. The gleam behind them was reminiscent of Astarion’s eyes when he fed, down to the unsettling tenderness behind the ache. His hand had outstretched for just a moment, as if he intended to touch them and then thought better of it. As the archduke played his lapse off as part of a wider gesture, the tin ringing in their ears started up.

He wants to touch you. He wants to touch you. Hack it off! Hack it off! He’ll never get to touch you again!

Again? They tried to push deeper into the urge’s meaning and were only met with an overwhelming surge of bloodlust. Their hands twitched, aching to release their dagger. The archduke was still talking, though they had stopped fully listening and it seemed he wasn’t fully listening to himself. His eyes had fallen from their face to their hip, where their blades were slung. If he had looked hungry before, his eyes on their blade were positively ravenous.

He wants you to hurt him. He always wanted you to hurt him. A royal, loyal little lapdog, awaiting your command. It would be so easy to hurt him. Get him alone and slice, slice, slice. He’d thank you for it after.

They tried to swallow back the bile rankling in their throat as the urge gloated. He had asked them something, something they hadn’t heard, but his hand was outstretched expectantly. The usual quiet background noise that was the urge surged into a frenzied scream as their eyes fell on his hand.

Hackitoffhackitoffhackitoffhackitoffhackitoff!

No one can ever touch you!

Astarion’s hand at the small of their back provided sickening punctuation to the urge’s manic squealing. Back outside their mind, the archduke’s eyes were bearing down on them, hunger slipping into unabashed lust as he skimmed their body. The ringing in their ears almost drowned out the sound of their own voice speaking words they hadn’t fully intended to say.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, tyrant.”

They couldn’t be certain, it happened too quickly , but a brief pained expression flickered across the archduke’s face at the honorific. Then, his eyes met theirs, his pupils fully blown, and his mouth spread to a wolfish grin. Something about it pulled in the back of their mind, the faint memory of blood, the taste of salt and a phantom caress up their back. 

“I should certainly hope not, assassin.”

Their body acted without the instruction of their mind reaching out to take his hand as though they had done so a thousand times before. They felt Astarion’s hand cling to their back before his touch faded as their body moved away from his. The archduke’s grip was feather light, yet there was a firm undercurrent that guided them to follow him. The cool metal tips of his gauntlet lay carefully at their wrist, pressing in just enough to make their presence known. The tin ringing drowned out all other sound, leaving only the urge to gleefully sing.

Turn around, turn around, turn around and look! You know you want to see. You want to see how hurt he is. You want to see it on his face. You want to hurt him. You want to see him suffer. You want to see how far you can bend him ‘til he breaks. Turn and look, turn and look, turn and look!

They tried to focus in on the beat of their heart, desperate for anything to drown out the urge’s delight. The archduke had released their hand, but his eyes never left them. They avoided his stare, choosing to fix their gaze on the stone behind him. A white hot feeling passed over their body as the public nature of the archduke’s coronation and his evident passion settled on their shoulders. Something in the clarity of revelation drove them to bring their focus back to his face. His attention was focused on them entirely, as though he wasn’t listening to the grand duke’s words as he repeated them with grand empty gestures. His mouth maintained a small smile, his gaze still starved as they slowly met his eyes, staring into two dark pools, deep enough they feared they might drown. Their heartbeat slowed to the pace of a dirge.

Suddenly in a flurry of motion the ceremony was over. They were able to find their retreat in the flood of patriars, all clambering to gain the favor of their new archduke. They finally turned to face Astarion in their newfound freedom, but he wasn’t facing them. Instead, he was further away than they expected, clustered in a tight circle with Gale and Karlach. He appeared to be arguing with them. 

They know what you did. They know who you are. They know who you are even when you don’t know who you are.  They always knew who you were. They’ll never trust you again. Deep down they never did. 

The urge was cut off by Karlach’s raised voice. Her voice reverberated off the walls, yet none of the elite seemed to hear her. She stormed from the hall with Gale following quickly in her wake with a rueful glance  in their direction. Astarion didn’t hesitate to turn back to the assassin. Even though his expression was difficult to read, they could tell he was displeased with the conversation. They started toward each other in tandem, Astarion’s hand reaching to them. Just as he was about to reach them, his expression darkened and they felt someone close in behind them.

The sudden prick of cold steel at their hip sent a wave of ice over their body that was quickly replaced by the warmth of the body behind them. “Meet me upstairs. Later, when your camp is settled. We have much to discuss.” he said, his voice so low it would have been impossible to hear were it not for his proximity. The archduke’s breath was hot against their ear, the hand on their hip just slightly tighter than was appropriate around so many people. He lingered with them for slightly longer than he should have, his body flush with their own. Their face turned to him slightly, just enough to see what he was looking at. Just enough to catch the piercing eye contact he was making with Astarion. He held Astarion’s glare for an agonizing moment, then stepped away and released them from his warmth.  

The archduke left them with an ostentatious salutation of “My friends”, followed by a meaningful look to the assassin. Astarion resumed his usual posture beside them, his arm curled possessively around their hips. Where the cool of his body would have been comforting, they found it a jarring difference to the archduke’s warmth. “I’m not certain how I feel about the way he looked at you, my sweet.” Astarion murmured, making a small show of pressing a kiss into their hairline as he stared daggers into the archduke’s back.

“I’m not certain how I feel about it either.”

Outside in the bright light of Wyrm’s Crossing, Gale struggled to keep pace with the tiefling as she stormed back to their camp. After several paces of jogging to keep up the wizard stopped to beg her to slow down. Karlach obliged, but her nervous energy next to him put Gale on edge. His own anger was blistering just under his skin and Karlach’s louder, lower boiling point was making matters worse. When the decreased pace and uneasy silence seemed to prove too much, Karlach’s words exploded from her as though they couldn’t leave her mouth fast enough.

“They were working with Gortash! They were involved with him! Did you see the way he touched them? The way they took his hand? And Astarion just stayed there with them. Like he wasn’t even angry. Like he understood!”

Gale bristled at Karlach’s accusations and attempted to quicken his pace. “Astarion has never made his affections or allegiances a secret.” he quipped, attempting to seem nonchalant.

Karlach stopped in her tracks, face morphed with an incredulous look. Gale tried to keep walking but a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “You don’t have to defend him, soldier.” she said, her voice softening with her gaze. 

 “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” he replied, heat flowing across his ears and down the back of his neck “I am simply stating that our allies and friends, may have their reasons for what happened in there.” Karlach’s engine blazed a few degrees hotter in response to his words, bathing Gale in heat. 

“They’re dangerous, Gale. Both of them. They’re dangerous apart and even more dangerous together.” she half-shouted, the strenuous effort it was taking her to remain sympathetic clear across her face.

 Gale just swallowed hard, his gaze drifting over Karlach’s shoulders to the figures approaching. Astarion was still wrapped around the bhaalspawn, his pale hand at the usual place on their hip. The elf leaned into them as he walked, murmuring some unknown pleasantry in the bhaalspawn’s ear, his easy, teasing smile gracing their presence as always. The hand at their hip pressed in as Gale could surmise he was making some lewd joke about the pompous archduke and his blown out ceremony. As he watched the two spawn a familiar aching spread across Gale’s chest and he felt as though his heart were beating in his stomach. 

Karlach had finally noted his distraction and looked over her own shoulder. When she realized who he was watching, she released a disapproving sigh and marched off. Gale turned halfway to follow her, torn between his anger with the Bhaalspawn and his desire to walk beside the vampire draped across their shoulders. In the time it took him to try to come to a decision Karlach was gone and the lovers had nearly reached his place on the road.  He begrudgingly held his position for them, unable to prevent the glare that covered his face. 

The bhaalspawn sighed as they reached him. “Don’t look at me like that.” they pleaded.

 Gale felt his scowl deepen. “I’m not entirely certain I have anything to say to you at this moment. Beyond that this whole turn of events has been wholly unsurprising.” he snapped. The bhaalspawn’s jaw twitched, but they didn’t engage him further.

 It was Astarion who cut in on their behalf. “Gale, don't be petulant.” he drawled, “Yes it would seem our esteemed leader is in fact the evil bastard who landed us all in this predicament in the first place, but there are bastards who are even more evil than they are who have been passed the torch.” Astarion threw a wink in the bhaalspawn’s direction as he wrapped an arm around Gale’s shoulders. Gale tried not to focus on the vampire’s touch, swallowing back the knot of emotion that formed in his throat. 

“What took you both so long anyway?” he grumbled, trying to lean away from Astarion’s chest in a subtle manner.

 “Actually that is a good question.” Astarion said, turning his attention back to his paramour, “What exactly did his eminence want to say to you?” Astarion’s voice was dripping in the kind of venom he usually reserved for speaking about his master. Gale wondered if something had happened after they left the coronation hall. The bhaalspawn tittered a moment before speaking.

“He wants to meet with me…alone.”

Astarion let out a barking laugh that would have come across as nonchalant, if Gale couldn’t feel his body stiffen next to him. “Well of course you shouldn’t do that, darling.” Astarion said with an airy wave of his hand, “That would be supremely foolish.”

Gale noted the small flash of irritation in their eyes before they spoke, not quite so deadly as he had seen before but still worth keeping an eye on. “I want to speak with him.” they replied, “He knows who I was before.” 

“Now my sweet, let’s not play dumb.” Astarion hissed out nails digging into Gale’s shoulder, “We both know the tyrant doesn’t just want to talk .”

Gale regretted not following Karlach, but the damage was already done. The lovers both briefly seemed as though they each might draw a weapon, the air thick with tension. As he realized the bhaalspawn’s gaze was fixed on Astarion’s hand on his shoulder, Gale shifted away from the rogue. His body briefly mourned the loss of Astarion’s touch, but he preferred his organs in their appropriate place.

 “Gortash is getting desperate. He’d likely say anything you wanted to hear to get you to his side.” he said, attempting to diffuse the energy flowing between them all.

 “Or it’s a trap.” Astarion tacked on, “And I know a trap better than any of the rest of you.”

The bhaalspawn didn’t appear keen to back down on the subject, yet with an unsettling smile they shifted and extended a hand to Astarion. “You’re both right.” they cooed, their tone sickly sweet, “It was a foolish thought. Let’s get back to camp. I’m sure Karlach has already spread the news of my…unfortunate, former alliance.” Astarion took their hand and all tension dissipated with a kiss. Gale started down the path to their camp, his stomach churning. 

The assassin was right, Karlach had already informed their companions, settling a tense quiet over the camp. Their stares of mistrust weren’t unfamiliar, if anything they were reminiscent of the days following the bard’s death. The ringing in their ears that had become so loud since they reached the city was becoming unbearable. They retreated to their bedroll, hoping tomorrow would bring some peace and a clearer plan of action. 

Yet between the ringing and the urge’s incessant taunting, peace eluded them. Even when Astarion joined them to feed, the dread in their chest never lifted. Astarion’s presence was usually accompanied by a heady lightness and soft chill like a balm against a burn. His cool fingertips were often enough to chase the urge back to its quiet background noise, but tonight all that came of it was cold. Their body had felt cold since the archduke had touched them, as though his warmth had drained them of their own. The isolation from their companion’s, Astarion’s jealousy, his hand on Gale, all swirled through their mind, fighting for dominance over what the urge would use to further tear at their psyche. 

You could earn their trust again. Eliminate the tyrant. Scurry off to his office and bathe in his blood. Tear into his flesh and they’ll sing your praises like a hero. Kill him and your vampire will feel warm again. His warmth will never taint you again. 

They were on the road in Wyrm’s Crossing approaching the Rock. They couldn’t even be certain when they had decided to go or how they had gotten there. There was only one thought in their often empty mind. They needed to see the tyrant.

Access to the fortress was surprisingly simple. They expected to run the gauntlet, steel watch. Flaming Fists, trained assassins, but the path to the archduke’s personal quarters was cleared. Only a single Fist who merely nodded them along as though she had been expecting them. The quiet was unsettling, leaving them with only the urge whining over the lack of bloodshed. 

Kill the tyrant extra bloody, then kill the rest of the sorry souls in this fortress. Show them your prowess, make them regret letting you in. Make them bleed.

The archduke was at his desk, poring over some documents with a glass of wine in his hand. He looked up from under his heavy brow as they entered with a soft, dangerous smile. “I’m glad you accepted my offer, assassin. There’s much to be done.” he said, waving them in from the doorway. They entered cautiously, unwilling to break the archduke’s stare. He held out a glass to them, gesturing to an empty seat near the desk. “It’s a vintage you favored.” he said, as they started to decline. Begrudgingly they accepted, giving the liquid a quick sniff. The archduke chuckled. 

“Poison isn’t my preferred method, my dear.”

“That’s funny, I would have pegged it as your style, your grace.”

“Why should it be? Up until recently I had the finest assassin in Baldur’s Gate at my disposal.”

The assassin glared at him, but took a careful sip. The tyrant was right. If they were to choose, this would be their preference. It reminded them of the bottle they had shared with Astarion the night they had celebrated their victory over the goblins. Sharp, acidic, with undertones of earth, pepper and a dark fleshy fruit they couldn’t name. Clearly a finer vintage than had been available on the road, but with the same hint of vinegar. 

The archduke was watching them again, clearly pleased with his overt knowledge where they lacked the ability to remember themselves. He was making his point rather beautifully. The desire to wipe the smirk off his face in blood nearly overtook them. Instead, they scowled into their glass before they spoke again. 

“Your security measures are shockingly subpar, your grace. I waltzed right in without so much as a second glance.” 

“But of course, dearest. Their orders are simple. You are free to come and go as you wish and no matter what they might hear, they are not to interrupt.  I expect my orders to be followed to perfection.”

“And you find that a wise choice, archduke? To allow me as close as I would wish? To allow me whatever my twisted psyche might drive me to do?” they asked. The assassin placed both hands on his desk, leaning over him as every ounce of malice thrummed through their body. He looked up at them with a nearly hopeful expression, as though he was eager for whatever harm they might intend him. “My assassin, my dagger, my love,” the archduke purred, “My life has long been yours to forfeit. If you have decided tonight is my end, then I willingly lay myself at the mercy of your blade.”

NOW! NOWNOWNOW! DO IT NOW!

They had started to laugh, the low, throaty chuckle of a madman. The archduke was either supremely stupid or just as insane as they were. Yet his every word rang with sincerity. Who was this man? Who was he to them? The urge recognized his presence when even they could not. Their wild laughter had hunched them over the desk, gripped by the urge’s wild screaming and the utter insanity of it all. Then something warm touched their cheek.

The archduke had placed a hand on their face, wiping away the tears they couldn’t source the emotion behind. Their own hand acted once again without their command, clasping on to the hand at their cheek. Fixed on his dark eyes, a sense of comfort and self flooded their chest, chasing down and destroying the doubt they were clinging to like the mast of a ship. His eyes reflected their own image back to them with the kind of intimacy reserved only for the beloved. It ripped at their memory so viciously they wondered if they would leave this room with their mind intact. The room around them tilted as flashes of memory flickered across their senses. 

As their knees buckled, they were abruptly surrounded by warmth. The archduke was holding them up, face angled down to them, close enough that his dark hair tickled their skin. The assassin had to pull back from the instinct to close the distance between them and relearn the taste of his tongue. His expression was just as intense as the moment they first encountered him, but now coloured with a fond softness. His body felt familiar, like a homecoming their very soul had been waiting for since they set foot in the city, despite their mind not holding a single memory of him. 

“Hello, assassin. Welcome home.”

They moved back, noting their reluctance to break from his warmth. Their body undeniably craved his presence. “Who are you?” they whispered, uncertain that was the question they meant to ask.

 “Enver Gortash, Archduke of Baldur’s Gate.” he replied with a smirk, “But to you, my dearest? Tyrant, lordling, would be duke. Occasionally darling or even Enver, if I behaved.” His tone was fond, as though he were telling a dear friend the story of his greatest love. Perhaps he was… 

Their heart was beating in their throat. This had been a mistake. Astarion had been right, they had to get back to him. They had to leave, to get back to camp. They just needed their body to move, to listen to their commands once more. A task that proved to be outside their own purview. 

Without thinking they moved to the window rather than the door, only realizing they had done so as their fingertips were brushing the sill. They had settled on the faintest grooves in the wood, slotting perfectly into place. The faint smell of cloves and tobacco brushed their senses. Their other hand raised, pressing lightly into the cold, warped glass of the pane. The blood pounded in their ears, drowning out their senses until there was only the urge.

You came here to do something. Don’t leave now. Soak the sill in blood. Let it run over the wall. Get him here, lean him out and slit his throat. Do it. Stop waiting. He wants you to do it. Give in and do it. Do it. DO IT.

Warmth enveloped their body. The urge fell silent as Enver’s chest molded to their back, a large arm wrapping their chest. The stubble of his chin prickled at their neck and at some distant sensation that could have been lifetimes ago. “You remember more than you think you do, assassin.” he crooned. His weight pressed them forward against the pane, the harsh cold of the glass countered by his warmth. Their mind vaguely conjured the feeling of Astarion’s chest against their skin the first time they had laid with him in the forest. Their hand twitched towards the latch of the window, but something in them couldn’t finish the motion. 

“Your body remembers. Though if you’re so inclined, I would be glad to give it a reminder.” he continued, a clawed thumb rubbing slow circles against their hip. He paused to wait for their response, his lips pressing at the base of their neck. When their words failed, the hand on their chest drifted across their stomach. Their grip on the window sill tightened, deepening the slight grooves by another notch. As his hand toyed at their laces, their fingers splayed against the glass. A brief thought raised from their fog, comparing the cool, smooth texture of the glass to Astarion’s chest. The heat of Enver’s shuddering breath chased the thought from their mind as he pressed them forward, his hand sliding under their waistband and across their slick folds. His thumb swiped across them, teasing at their clit with a level of dexterity that could only be attributed to intimate knowledge. 

Their heavy breathing was fogging the pane in front of them. When he finally pushed a finger inside them their forehead hit the glass, allowing their body to rock into his hand with the arch of their back. Enver’s breath was hot on their neck, his lips alternating between lingering kisses and sighing soft moans. His hand continued to work them over intimately, nothing about his strokes hurried, but carried by a desperate undercurrent that grew with every moment they were connected. The gauntlet left their hip, reaching up swiftly to take hold of their hair and pull their head backwards. The second it pierced their scalp the urge reared to life with a shriek.

TOUCHED YOU! TAINTED! Taintedtaintedtaintedtaintedtaintedtaintedtaintedtaintedtainted. No one can touch you! Rip, tear, cut, slice! Make him regret touching you!

Without a second thought the assassin drew their dagger, whipping around to bring it to his throat. The blade sliced into his skin, ruby droplets spilling over its silver edge. In turn the archduke’s gauntlet closed around their neck, pressing down just hard enough to silence the urge once more. Their pulse quickened, only heightened by the crimson trickling across their blade and his fingers still thrumming inside their cunt. Enver’s expression remained steady, consumed only by a ravenous desire. 

Their body leaned into him again, allowing him deeper. His head fell against their own, pushing the blade deeper. “Enver…” they whimpered, their free hand gripping his hip, desperate for anything to hold them together. “Yes.” he groaned, pushing them so hard against the glass it felt as though it might break and send them both tumbling into the street. Somewhere distantly in their mind, the urge purred at the thought.

 Their eyelids began to flutter, an overwhelming sensation crawling up their back. “Eyes on me, assassin.” he commanded. Their eyes flew open, locking their gaze with his intense stare. Time slowed for just a moment as their climax hit, eyes fixed on Enver’s, just before he pressed their mouths together. He rode their pleasure with his tongue in their mouth, their blade still stuck in his throat, prolonging it as long as he could. 

When they finally came down from their high, he slowly pulled his hand from their trousers, softly brushing their soaked folds as he did. He held his covered hand up to the light, admiring it a moment before bringing it to his lips. As he did an image flashed across their empty mind. Astarion, hand covered in their blood as he swept it in his mouth. 

The thought of Astarion brought them crashing back to their reality. Their hand slipped behind them, finding the latch to the window. The click drew Enver’s attention away from his hand. “You’re leaving?” he asked, making no motion to stop them. The assassin could only nod. He sighed softly. “Back to your camp?” he continued. Another nod. “Even knowing what you know now?” Enver pushed further, “Why?” The answer caught in their throat but they pushed through it to give him their reason.

 “Astarion.” they whispered, his name falling out like a dead language. 

With a low growl Enver pressed his mouth against theirs, forcing them to taste themselves on his tongue. They melted back against his body, the will to go faltering for a moment. Yet the hand behind their back pushed against the pane, opening the window and letting the cold rush in. Enver pulled back from them, disappointment clouding his eyes.

“Very well.” he said with a tut, “Return to your camp, fight against our plot, until you can no longer resist your true nature. I’m quite accustomed to waiting on you, assassin. Once you made me wait an entire month. You’ll find I am exceedingly patient.” He left a final kiss under their jaw before retreating to his desk with a lingering glance. The assassin slipped from the window, down the stone walls and back into the street.

He was sitting up when they crept back into camp, crimson eyes glowing in the dark. Astarion’s face painted a picture of anger, betrayal and concern all rolled into one. They considered avoiding him, returning to their bedroll as though nothing had changed, but his eyes drew them to him. “Hello darling.” they whispered, fighting past every instinct to run.

 “We agreed you wouldn’t meet with him alone.” he hissed as they approached him. They could only nod, swallowing back the knot in their throat. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” Astarion snapped, “I came out of my trance to you gone and you’ve been gone for hours.” In the low light of the candles at his tent, they could see his hair wasn’t coiffed quite as perfectly as usual, his shirt slightly rumpled and an empty wine bottle at his feet. He had been waiting up for them, possibly as long as they had been gone.

They both stood in their second tension filled silence of the day before Astarion sighed and reached for them. They relished the cool touch of his hands, settling into the crook of his neck. Their body felt overheated, flushed, tense in spite of their release. Astarion’s body against them provided a certain safety, the reminder that if he had not interceded, the camp likely would have dispatched them long ago. However it lacked the warmth and comfort Enver’s had provided. The realization created an aching hole on their chest.

 “I don’t enjoy being worried for you, you know?” he grumbled into their hair.

 “I know,” they replied, “I’m sorry, I just had to know.”

 Astarion sighed again, cold fingers tracing patterns across their back. “Did you at least get the answers you were looking for?” he asked.

 The thought to lie flashed across their mind as they dredged up a partial truth, muttering something about how they weren’t really certain. Astarion gave them some sympathetic tuts, and as he pulled their face to his the urge began to sing.

Do you think that he can taste the tyrant on your tongue?

[mrsreginagold]

Fic: Darkness Stirs And Wakes Imagination

Fandom: Nikita

Pairing: Ari Tasarov x Nikita Mears (Nikari)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Canon-divergent AU that roughly takes place during the beginning of season three. Ari is a part of the team and he and Nikita have been romantically involved for over a year.

Summary: Nikita and Ari help each other survive a hectic October night, all while they’re harboring a secret from their friends. 

Author's Note: It's officially my favorite holiday, so I wrote some Nikari in celebration. The title is a lyric from The Music of the Night, because I absolutely adore The Phantom of the Opera and it plays a significant part in this piece. This turned out super domestic, sweet and fluffy, and I had a blast composing it. Enjoy and Happy Halloween! 🎃

On AO3

Darkness Stirs And Wakes Imagination

                  “Hold still,” Nikita Mears admonished, trying to keep her hand steady as it hovered over Ari Tasarov’s handsome face, not wishing to accidentally poke her beloved in the eyes as she applied dark liner to enhance them.

                  “Difficult to do when the love of my life happens to be straddling me while barely dressed,” her companion joked. “Besides: it’s not going to be visible behind the mask.”

                  “It’s for me,” she confessed, a quiet laugh emerging as she shook her head and then leaned forward to carefully draw the pencil across one eyelid. “I know you’ll look gorgeous with just a touch of this. I’ll be subtle, I promise.”

                  He sighed, but remained as still as a statue so she could continue her work. “The things I put up with for you.”

                  “Hush,” she caressed at his cheek and then focused on filling in a corner before turning his face slightly to the side so she could touch up the other eye. 

                  Once she was finished, she sat back to admire her handiwork. “Okay, you can open them now.”

                  He did so cautiously, not wanting to upset the effort she had just made, even inadvertently.

                  Nikita’s breath caught. Ari already happened to possess the most stunning blue gaze she had ever seen, but with the added effect of the liner to enhance the shade that she loved – he was devastatingly attractive. 

                  “I take it by your silence that I meet your expectations?”

                  Her response was to lunge and steal a passionate enough kiss that it caused him to topple back onto the mattress. 

                  Amused laughter emerged from her partner, but he returned the embrace with equal fervor, his hands moving up to tenderly cradle her face while they reclined together. 

                  “Nik…love, we’re supposed to be putting our costumes on, not the opposite,” he reminded, though he didn’t exactly protest when she shoved the undershirt he wore up over his stomach in order to trace a languid pattern across his toned abdomen. 

                  “We could always cancel,” she muttered, her lips drifting to coast along his jawline. 

                  “As preferable as that would be…” he clasped her shoulders and gently pushed her back to reason with her. “We both know that Alexandra has been planning this for months. I would hate to disappoint our friend.”

                  “You mean the friend that we haven’t told the news of our engagement to? That friend?” Nikita quirked a brow and gestured at the simple gold chain where her sapphire and diamond engagement ring dangled.

                  “You were the one who wanted to keep it secret for a little longer,” he reminded before ducking a quick kiss to her forehead. “Besides, we’ve been quite busy.”

                  “It’s also probably not a great idea to spring it on her, especially since there’s been some tension with Sean lately,” the former assassin agreed. “If anything, planning this trip has given Alex the distraction she’s needed.”

                  Her fiancé smiled warmly and rubbed soothingly along her spine. “Come on, I’ll help you with the dress.”

                  She nodded and then let him lead her away from the comfort of their bed for the time being. 

                  Nikita had to admire the clearly high-end production value put into the amusement park’s Halloween event. When Alex had suggested they take a weekend out-of-state to attend, she had initially balked at the idea, but between Birkoff’s enthusiasm in helping out with plans and Ari’s gentle coaxing (and a promise that they could take a normal vacation in the winter) she found herself warming to the concept more and more. 

                  It also helped that she did not scare very easily, even when actors in well-crafted makeup and costumes jumped out and yelled at her. 

                  What probably made it more enjoyable was striding, arm in arm, with the man she loved. Ari’s presence could calm her even in the most anxiety inducing situation. She was also well-aware that, in spite of his encouragement to join their younger companions in the festivities, it wasn’t what either one of them would call his preference.

                  Her fiancé was not the nervous sort, but he was also not terribly fond of haunts, like her. It all depended on the theming, and luckily there was nothing based on any of the horror films that had resulted in the pair cowering in each other’s arms while they watched in morbid fascination – but it didn’t change the fact that compared to their friends: they were less versed in how to handle the scares. 

                  “You starting to regret this?” she had to shout to be heard over the booming music that was being filtered through the speakers as they followed Alex and Birkoff down the labyrinthian pathway. 

                  “Only that these shoes aren’t conducive to running!” He gestured at the black leather riding boots that completed his Phantom of the Opera outfit. 

                  The major caveat had been that everyone had to wear costumes since it was a special ticketed event that encouraged dressing up. For Birkoff, this was practically second nature, and he seemed the most at ease walking around disguised as Batman. Alex also seemed relatively calm dressed as Cinderella, though Nikita had to wonder who had suggested the idea to her. 

                  Ari had chosen to go as the famous musical’s character in his Red Death outfit from the film version that had released a few years back. His lean frame was encased in layers of red silk and velvet that clung to his build perfectly, and the ensemble was topped off by a white, skeletal half-mask. Judging by how many heads happened to turn to look at him when he passed by it was clear that the effect was extremely appealing. 

                  To match him, the second in command of Division had picked Christine’s pink masquerade ballgown, and while she wore more sensible flats underneath, there was still a fairly voluminous petticoat in addition to a corset for structure. Neither one of them would be making a quick getaway: but they would look amazing while attempting. 

                  “Okay,” Alex finally came to a halt as she studied a map of the various house locations. “I think we’ll start with up here and then head down to the lower level. We have front of the line passes, so it’ll help get through all the houses faster.”

                  “That’s fine by me,” Nikita grasped Ari’s hand. “We’ll follow your lead.”

                  The grin that her protégé offered was mildly alarming, and it certainly didn’t help when Birkoff eagerly rubbed his hands together. 

                  “I fear you might have unleashed a monster,” her love muttered, his fingers twining more tightly with her own. 

                  “When we get back to our room, we’re taking a hot bath to unwind, deal?”

                  “Absolutely.”

                  What resulted was close to four hours of non-stop mayhem. 

                   Nikita was able to convince Alex to allow Ari a break when it turned out that one of the haunts was based on a legend that plagued his childhood. Their short reprieve was spent trying some of the snacks that were offered in the theme park, but afterwards they had to cycle through the final houses before closing time. 

                  By the time the couple made it back to their hotel: they were almost ready to collapse. 

                  “Never again,” Ari groaned as he sat on the couch in the suite so he could remove his boots. “Though these ended up being more comfortable than I expected.”

                  Nikita sank down next to him and toed off her shoes, reclining into the plush pillows with an exhausted sound. “I’m going to need help with all this,” she gestured at her gown.

                  “Of course, just let me take a few minutes to breathe in air and not theatrical fog,” he took off the mask and placed it on the coffee table, and then put up his feet. 

                  She did the same, managing to curl against his side in spite of the amount of fabric that made up her skirt. 

                  They both exhaled in unison, basking in a quiet moment after an adventurous evening.

                  “Did you have fun?” Nikita eventually broke the silence and peered up at her future husband. 

                  “Not sure if I would define it as such,” Ari remarked dryly, though he grazed his mouth against her temple affectionately. “You?”

                  “Some of the sets and make-up impressed me,” she shrugged, nonchalant. “But it’s not something I’d do again unless there was a really good reason.”

                  “To be fair, we went because we felt obligated,” his hand began to stroke gradually along her bare arm. “However, I think Halloween itself should be more subdued.”

                  “No costumes?” she stretched and kissed lazily along his jawline.

                  “Nothing as elaborate as this, although…” he curled his fingers beneath her chin to stop the movement, and then tipped her head back. “You make a beautiful Christine.”

                  “Flatterer,” she teased, though she eagerly returned the sweet embrace that he bestowed seconds later. 

                  “How about we help each other out of these clothes and take that bath?” he suggested, nipping playfully at her mouth while he pulled away. “I think we’ve earned a respite.”

                  “Sounds perfect.” She smiled and kissed him again.

                  Ari first removed his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, and then hung up the three pieces in the wardrobe before instructing Nikita to turn around so he could undo the buttons to the back of her dress. 

                  She stepped out of the garment shortly after, grateful that the petticoat had been sewn in so she wouldn’t have to deal with another piece. 

                  Her lover placed the gown in a garment bag and sealed it up before putting it away, and then took her hand within his own, leading the way to the adjoining bathroom. 

                  She watched fondly as he rolled up his sleeves and tested out the water temperature before letting it run. 

                  He turned back to face her just as she was taking down the half-bun in her hair and shook the curled strands loose. She smiled invitingly before crossing into his space, reaching out to pop open the buttons to his shirt. 

                  He busied himself with unlacing the front of her corset while she focused on her task, pausing only long enough for her to push the crisp fabric down his arms and to the floor before he finished with the final bits of ribbon. 

                  Nikita wasted no time in lifting the remaining undershirt over Ari’s head, baring his perfectly toned torso to her gaze. Her eyes tracked over the sculpted planes of muscle she was very much familiar with, her nails skimming through the dark hair that dusted his chest before she touched her lips lightly to his clavicle as a signal to continue.

                  They finished undressing each other and then met in a loving kiss once it was skin to skin, their hands wandering avidly now that nothing was between them. 

                  She adored how easily he could engulf her with his taller form, his solid, warm frame pressing close as the embrace deepened. 

                  He scooped her up without preamble and carried her into the tub, shutting off the running water to ensure it wouldn’t overflow before they settled in. 

                  They assisted each other in washing. As enticing as amorous proclivities could be, Nikita had learned that simple intimacy between them was something she cherished far more. When there was spare time to relish such a thing, she never hesitated in basking in those moments. 

                  With a content sound, she lounged in Ari’s embrace – her back against his chest – and murmured: “This is so much better than running around in a theme park.”

                  “No argument here,” His lips ghosted across her bare shoulder.

                  Instinct prompted her to tilt her head, granting him better access to the slender column of her neck, smiling when he scraped his teeth purposely along sensitive skin before darting firefly kisses up to the shell of her ear. “I was close to spilling the beans to Alex tonight, you know?”

                  “Really?” He thumbed across the underside of her breast beneath the water, his ministrations growing more sensual with each passing minute. “Are you changing your mind about keeping the engagement private?”

                  “Well…” she turned around in his arms, nudging his nose with her own and taking in the alluring sight of him with moisture gleaming on his pale skin, his damp hair falling rakishly over his forehead. “I’m starting to realize that I can have you all to myself for the rest of my life, so what harm is there in announcing our happiness to our closest friends? Maybe at Thanksgiving?

                  “I’ll support whatever decision you make,” he brought a hand up to caress along her cheek. “I love you so much, Nikita.”

                  “I love you too.” Her heart swelled with emotion, and she surged forward to claim his mouth with her own, their passion for one another erupting and leading to the inevitable. 

                  As far as they were both concerned – it was a perfect end to the night. 

The End

[silent-sanctum]

And I'm Here - Jotaro x Reader

Word count: 1.5k+

When the universe ends and time stands still for a moment, what happens then?

cw: Stone Ocean ending spoilers

The blinding light was the first guest to greet him when he woke.

The gentle lull of the waves, accompanied by the comforting cool of the ocean surrounding his ankles, was the next.

He wasn’t sure if it was from whiplash from the void of the dark to the tranquil scene of the light, but a couple seconds was needed for his mind to come back and for the last moments of his life to flash before his eyes.

The chaos of accelerated time. His team in a flustered mess around him. The priest responsible for all of this. The world of his stopped time. The knives directed at his daughter. His scream of terror. His desperation.

His death.

It was too sudden for his body to register the pain, though he felt it resonate in his soul. His failure to keep fighting the second it happened. A phantom whisper of his wounds continued to linger- the cut on his throat and the vertical scar that ran down the right of his face.

Reminders of his shortcomings of how he should have done something better. A few seconds more and he could have ended it then.

But-

He clenched his fist, his head hung low in shame and his teeth gritted in anger. You should’ve been better. So much for proving yourself.

What now? What should he do while the world continued crumble? Where would he even go from here?

Past the shade of his visor, nothing but the vastness and of the ocean awaited him here. No signs of his daughter nor her friends in sight. A punishment deserving of his neglect and wrong decisions. Figured. I don’t deserve to find my closure when I chose this for myself.

Just like that, his hands fell slack and welcomed the numbness growing from within.

Absent-minded with no purpose, he kept his head low and walked. And walked… And walked. He greeted the isolation and the quiet swoosh of the water like an old friend taunting at him for his mistakes.

He didn’t know how far he went but with one more step forward, he heard it.

“Love?”

His breath hitched, his body paralyzed in complete shock, but deep down in him, his chest caved in on itself. His hands turned to fists and he quivered. That voice. That sweet voice. There was no chance of it being- it couldn’t…

The water waded and the voice drew near. “Love please look at me.” Oh god. Please not like this. It was. He could recognize that voice from anywhere. And he couldn’t bear to look. Not after everything he’d done.

And just then, someone stood behind him. A comforting aura with an air of warmth that he didn’t deserve to feel. He wanted to run. Run like he did when he was much younger. To flee and spare the trouble. But when it came to this.. he couldn’t. So he stood there, unmoving.

“I know everything hurts…,” a shaky exhale. “Everything’s falling apart but I need you to face me so I know I’m not dreaming. Please.”

Fractures continued to crack in his solitary heart, every syllable of those words desperate and filled with familiarity. He didn’t want to- but… he never won when it came to moments like this.

He turned ever so slowly, his head still hung low with the brim of his hat aiding in his cover and his body rigid with uncertainty.

He didn’t say anything. Nor did the person. And he waited. For a yell, a slap to the face, words of blame, anything.

He didn’t know what hurt more. The anger that never came but should have, or the complete gentleness of a smaller pair of hands grasping his, thumb circling the warmth of his skin as a meek gesture of comfort.

What did he do to deserve this?

“Does it still hurt?” A hand came to cup his cheek and he flinched. Please leave. But it didn’t. He felt its soft palm caress his face, and with no more will to fight back, gently tilted his head to look.

And there you were.

In all the beauty that made you who you were. One that captivated the likes of him beyond his comprehension. His heart throbbed at the sight of your tearful eyes, the slight tint to your cheeks, and the quiver of your lips. He looked away, unable to hold your gaze.

Never in his life has been this hard in suppressing back his emotions, not when his source of happiness stood before a broken man who failed his family and the universe. He could feel them swelling in his eyes as your fingers traced his scar with featherlight ease.

I can’t- “What are you doing?” He jerked his head away from your touch, doing his best to keep his voice stable as one last attempt in putting up a brave façade. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you should?” Your voice was even despite the subtle wobble in your speech with not a trace of malice in it.  “I wouldn’t know where else to go other than here. With you.”

Why? “Why is the world so cruel?” He mumbled under his breath, one that you caught just as you always did then. “Why does it allow me to have this only to rip it away from me at the last second?”

You didn’t say anything. He hated being vulnerable like this but when nothing else exists for him to divert himself into, what else was there to do? He turned his head away, sparing you the sight of him starting to break.

“I shouldn’t- Why… Why am I feeling like this…”

“Because you’ve loved.” He glanced at you, breath stilling at the gentleness of your voice. “You loved and cared for everyone you held dear and did what you could to show that. And you’re hurt because it feels like the world doesn’t return that to you.”

“Am I right?”  

As much as he wanted to deny, he knew it was true. Without realizing, his lips tightened trying to stop them from trembling but he couldn’t prevent the single tear that shed from his scarred eye. His breaths started to shake but still… he tried to keep himself together.

Your hand returned to cup his cheek, once again nudging him to look at you. You’ve gazed at him with shining eyes and an understanding smile, your cheeks stained with fresh tears. “You’re hurting because you blame yourself for not being enough for them. For us.”

His breath hitched as he took one second to return your gaze, only to shut them before any more tears start to drop. You were always perceptive. Always knew him deep down despite the many walls he put up to hide it.

He couldn’t say anything but overlap his hands on yours that rested on his cheek, nuzzling your palm as a silent response, allowing another tear to fall.

You stood on your toes and gently directed him to lean down for you to press a soft kiss on his lips. At your touch, he trembled and reciprocated. As if it’s second nature, his hands came to hold your waist, keeping you close to him as if you’d disappear once he lets go.

With hesitancy you pulled back, leaning your forehead against his. For a brief moment, you both stood in silence, relishing in each other’s presence, allowing all his unspoken grief and regrets out through his uneven breaths.

Through your own tears, you let out a watery giggle as you thumbed the tears away from his eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe after what you’ve been through, but do know that there were people who were grateful for your existence. Our friends who went with us in our journeys, your family who never stopped caring for you, your daughter who looked up to you and waited for you all her life…”

You stifled a sob of your own. “Your wife who continued to love her husband unconditionally even after death.”

Right then and there, the walls that held firm for years shattered and he broke into tears.

He wrapped his arms around your waist as he buried his face on your shoulders, his body shaking from the force of his strangled sobs. You huffed and encircled your arms around him. “You’ve done more than enough love.”

You held him for as long as he needed. In the dawn of a new life, he whispered a quiet confession. “I… I want to go home.”

“And we will,” you said in return, caressing his cheeks. “All you have to do is close your eyes and when you wake, we’ll be there waiting for you.”

He shook his head. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” You hushed him with another kiss, keeping your forehead against his. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You both fell to your knees as the universe began to crumble, ready to start anew. And you whispered one last sentence…

“You’ve done well love. You may rest now.”

[tavyliasin]

Scent of Cinnamon 6 - The Command, The Deal, And The Touch of Serendipity

Continuing directly from the last installment in this series, Raphael has agreed that it might be easier to get used to feeling Haarlep's effect on his body if he watches and instructs them on what to do. A simple task, or so he thought before he realises now that he has to actually decide what he wants. Meanwhile, the incubus is more than happy to tease their new master with the illusion of control.

3,928 Words

AO3 Link Click Here or Tumblr Masterlist for SoC Here

Summary: Raphael instructs Haarlep on exactly how to touch his...their body, while he watches Pairing: Raphael/Haarlep SPICE Rating: 3.5/5  Content Warnings: Mild Power Play, Mild Angst, Masturbation, mild alcohol mention, implied sounding (but no actual sounding), Aphrodisiacs (with consent)

Spoilers Vague House of Hope and Act 3, but most of this series is focused on what came before. Canon Compliance There's really not a lot of canon to comply with here. The description of the house travelling through the hells is canon, as is Raphael's ambition to rule the hells. Other Notes: We are continuing precisely from the end of the previous chapter, right in to the middle of the scene~ I also want to give my heartfelt thanks to my beta reader https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_me_thy_lyre for helping polish it up, catch a few errors, and for giving me the confidence in it when it waned. Also to the HOHS as usual for snippet help and feedback and writing sprints together!

Paired Song Phantom by NateWantsToBattle "I'm just a phantom in your room With no intent on leaving soon And you're still not even sure just how I got here Another ghost that's in your bed That you wish you could leave for dead Ain't no magic word can make me disappear

Now that room, it starts to dim Set the mood for onset sin And now we're passed out on the floor of your apartment With every single warning sign It passed you up and slipped you by But we're all bound to end up back to where we started

Make no mistake I'll break you down (Whoa-oh-oh, whoa-oh-oh) Shout it around town

I'm not what you want But I'm exactly what you need Take a bite and feed Your satisfaction guaranteed"

--- --- FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT! --- ---

The Command, The Deal, And The Touch of Serendipity

The agreement was clear. A simpler deal, one with less urgency behind it - or so they thought. Haarlep withdrew their touch with a prolonged caress around Raphael’s whole body, letting him feel the direct contact once more. “Would this be easier with some of my-” 

The impulsive nature of the cambion rose its head once more as he turned to them while they spoke, taking hold of their horns and stealing their lips in a motion almost as smooth as one of their own kind might have done.

They yielded to his whims, taken aback for a moment by the boldness in his actions, yet quickly once more reaffirming their control with one hand cradling the back of his head with a firm grasp of his soft hair between strong crimson fingers. Their other hand rested only upon his shoulder, allowing him control of his body as they delivered the poison of their aphrodisiac kiss once more. 

In truth, Haarlep hadn’t expected him to agree so swiftly - and certainly couldn’t have predicted the enthusiasm with which his tongue drank them in - but they were not about to complain. They didn’t require sustenance quite so frequently as to need it every day, however there was a comfort in not having to fight for scraps of lust on the brink of starvation, or to submit themselves to someone who was beneath them.

Raphael was not on their level. Far from it. Yet…

—

The sweet fire of cinnamon was just as intoxicating to Raphael in this second kiss as it was in their first. Even a lover’s lips could not hope to match the heat-

He fought for a firmer grasp of his senses again. As soon as he began to pull back, the grip on his hair was gently released, allowing him to turn away again. It was not easy to steady himself, fingers curling and clinging harshly to the sheets as the warmth began to spread. 

The only word he could seem to find for it was one that spoke of liquor, potent alcohol warming his body through from his throat to his chest, a shot spiked with infernal lava that challenged even his constitution:

Intoxicating. The second dose was no less powerful than the first had been. The cambion doubted he would ever build any form of immunity to the sweet poison that pooled with heat in his gut… He gave it a moment longer before he found the strength in his legs to stand. 

A part of him was surprised - disappointed? No… Perplexed. The incubus was true to their word, leaving him in control of his own body as well as their own. 

He cast a quick glance around the room and summoned one of the long couches closer with a light tug on the Weave. A brief telekinesis took little effort to one of his standing, and soon he was no longer standing but sitting, facing his own bed and the reflection of himself within it. 

They still looked like a mirage to him. Every time he blinked he expected the next opening of his eyes to reveal tan skin in place of crimson, a tail with a pointed tip, and the tall and slender form that was seared into his memory in vivid detail. Yet there they sat, watching and waiting expectantly, wearing his likeness in the manner one might wear a mask to a ball. 

—

Haarlep felt no need to push for control. The stick had been given, and now the carrot was dangling - though perhaps dangling was not the most apt analogy for the rigid ‘vegetable’ awaiting Raphael’s instruction. 

“Could you at least look a little more relaxed?” He hesitated to give a clearer order, expression near unreadable though his body showed the tell-tale signs of aroused anticipation. 

“Could you?” Haarlep laughed, though not harshly. Instead they tried to put him more at ease with the idea, at least until the lust could cloud his senses and drive more of that courage that had risen just a short minute ago. They lay back, angling themselves towards him slightly so they could see each other more clearly. “Where should I touch?” 

“It was…acceptable, when you…” Faltering again, Raphael’s hand moved to tug nervously at a collar he wasn’t wearing. 

“When I began before, it was here.” They ran a light claw across their chest, sharp eyes spotting the goosebumps that rose on the mirror form of the cambion’s body. He felt that. “Touch can be like a knife - the same blade that cuts the flesh could instead be used to spread icing upon a cake.” 

“I didn’t take you for a chef.” Raphael’s eyebrow raised. 

“You didn’t take me at all~” Haarlep teased. The eyebrow dropped to a frown. “So serious, Archduke - this isn’t business now. It’s pleasure.” 

They watched another drop of sweat form on his brow as their hands sought more of the sensitive parts of their upper body, judging both their own experience and his reaction. “I’m not certain I will ever get used to this,” he murmured, his own hand hovering over the same position their caress had paused.

“Is it something you want to get used to? We have plenty of time on our hands, after all~” They pinched softly, smirking at how he sucked in a quick breath through barely parted lips. 

“It is not a matter of want but of need-” 

“So you need me now? I’m touched~” “What I need, Harlot, is to grow at least mildly accustomed to this…link.” He ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back between his horns. “It is becoming clear that if you are to entertain my clients that I will need to learn to endure it.” 

“Only endure?” Haarlep pressed the point a little with another pinch, harder this time, the tug at their chest drawing a little pain. As expected, his face betrayed the hint of pleasure that travelled the distance between them to his own nerves. “Why simply endure when you could learn to enjoy what I have to offer?” 

—

They were pushing him again, Raphael knew that, could see the bait even as it dangled on the hook before him…and yet he swallowed it, line and all, the metaphor twisting in his gut along with the myriad of butterflies that marked his anticipation. 

It felt good, he couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny wanting more. “Again.” 

Haarlep complied, though they drew out the sensation, pulling with a twist, and once more he felt not even a whisper of pain. The pleasure, however-

“So this is what you like. I wouldn’t have guessed from how you were last night.” Raphael regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth, Haarlep’s laugh echoing from the walls far louder than before. 

“The response you are feeling is your body’s own~” Haarlep pressed one claw to a ridge that ran from their chest to their stomach, following the curve with increasing pressure until blood was drawn. “Our deal transfers that pleasure, not the pain.” 

The truth of their words sank in as he could see the slight wound would no doubt sting, even as it began to knit closed with the fiend’s self-healing abilities. Slower than he might, but still true to the fiend’s power. “That seems very convenient, particularly for me.” The thought swirled a little longer, even as they continued their ministrations on his doubled form, the ghost of each touch almost alive on his own skin.

—

“Very astute~ I suppose I should expect no less from one such as yourself. The possibilities for a true sadist are numerous.” Haarlep pushed back the darker edges of old torments. Safety was assured as long as they held the balance of power in their palm, but that grip mustn’t tighten too quickly. “What next? Now that you have a clearer taste of what you might experience.” 

“Lower.” His eyes travelled down their body as if trying to evaluate what would be best. He seemed to come up short, however. “Go slowly, no penetration, but show me what the form you wear might feel.” 

The incubus smiled, their tail beginning to tease at their lower leg, tracing the tip along the ridges that marked the demonic nature of the fiend. It was perhaps ironic that their previous form looked more human, even though by blood they had more of the undiluted infernal within them than the Cambion who held their ownership upon the page. Yet in his true fiendish form, Raphael was far more the devil of mortal tales than any incubus. “Here?” They caressed their hip, finding a point where the curve of the body dipped inwards as a shallow dip. 

“There,” he replied, finally beginning to relax back in his seat. 

They didn’t even need to see his body to know how he was feeling. It was pleasing to see him gradually succumbing more and more not only to the effects of their kiss, but to the touch they were indulging in as well. One hand remained on their chest, the other on their hip, as their tail continued to trail up the inside of their leg, finding each nerve to pull on like a puppet-master toying with strings. 

The cambion began to dance on their stage.

—

Raphael could not still his legs, nor his tail, nor his racing pulse. Inch by agonising inch he was losing control of himself to the heat that built in every echoed touch, a bare breath away from replicating the motions of the incubus upon his own body. That, however, was a pointless endeavour - everything was vividly clear, the pressure, the slight tickle as the tip of their tail slipped out of view to tease him more. If he closed his eyes, he would assume they were right there with their hands roaming over him directly.

Haarlep held his gaze, in a way that made him feel as if looking away were forbidden. Or maybe it was another challenge… It was hard to tell. They were like a shimmering mirage, an oasis in the desert of his need that was leaving his throat dry and parched, a vision that could vanish in an instant.

The ache of need drew out the next command without a second thought. “More, direct, take hold of-” 

“This?~” Haarlep’s fingers wrapped around his- their base, taking a firm grasp and drawing out the friction that was barely soothed by the remains of the oil they had been using earlier still glistening on their skin. 

“That.” Raphael moaned, his own fingers gripping into the arm of the seat he was reclined upon, watching as the incubus stroked so carefully along every ridge. 

“It can be easy, Archduke, to tell me exactly what you want most. Direct me, and make good use of it whilst you still can.” He could hear the edge of warning that Haarlep filtered into their words - should he refuse to give them control in the Boudoir, should he demand to be in control every time he stepped beyond the threshold, their contract would break. “Though I promise you this - when you do give me complete power you will not regret it.”  

“Right there, that ridge-” His voice almost cracked as they stopped and pressed their thumb where he wanted it. “That’s…good…” 

Haarlep obeyed, caressing the spot with care, tracing a path around the raised edge with the tip of their claw to sharpen the pleasure. “Anything else?” 

“More oil,” he faltered again, uncertain if he was truly prepared for what he was about to request or even to voice it, but the ache of need overtook his hesitation once more. “Not…not for your hand. Your tail.” 

—

The incubus felt a wave of their own pleasure increasing, their appetite whetted by the keening edge in his voice, the delicious hesitance that told them it didn’t truly matter that he was commanding their actions. The devil, as always, was in the details - they were the one who told him to give the orders in the first place. He certainly wasn’t acting like a man in control, not even over his own senses. 

Fresh oil slicked over their tail easily as they continued to stroke the hardened ridge he found most pleasurable. That wasn’t something they had expected - that halfway along his length would be the most sensitive point - but it was a weakness they memorised quickly. “And now?” They pressed him for his answer. This was how they held the leash even as the pretence of the collar was around their own neck. 

“You know what I want.” He pouted, refusing to elaborate. So petulant, they thought, as they glared him down. “If you don’t tell me clearly, I will assume this is all you wanted.” Haarlep kept their gaze locked on his eyes as they rubbed the oil down their tail tip with a lewd caress, mirroring the motion with their other hand. Raphael shuddered and bit his lip.

Haarlep grinned.

“In…” It was barely above a whisper, the request clear in the needy way his hips were writhing, his own tail tip twitching. 

“Hmmm I must be losing my hearing, Archduke~” Haarlep licked their lips, tasting the arousal on the air, savouring the desperation as they brought their tail forwards in front of them. “In my mouth? The oil would be terribly bitter, I doubt you’ll feel much pleasure from that.” 

“Hells…” Raphael’s grip on the upholstery was beginning to tear the fabric at its seams. “You know exactly what I mean, Harlot.” A moment of bravado, throttled by their next choice to bring the tip of their tail to another tip, its mirror twitching and dripping slightly. “So, in? In here?” Raphael growled a low warning of disapproval. “Well, it seems the proud and powerful Archduke who would rule over all the hells cannot even say something as simple as-”  “Haarlep, still your insults and put that tail up your hole, or I shall have you thrown out!”

There it was. 

The yell, the hollow threat, the cry of need finally giving voice to desire. They had him exactly where they wanted him.

“There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The incubus slid their tail behind and beneath them, teasing at their entrance for just a moment before pushing inside with a swift motion that brought a quickly silenced gasp from their own lips. “Well, something is certainly hard~” 

—

The pressure and fullness of the phantom intrusion almost choked the breath entirely from Raphael’s lungs. He could feel every tiny texture on the tip of his tail as they moved slowly, matching the caress of their hand in front of them. He cast a brief glance at the tail attached to his own body, the echoed pressure on the tip harsh and tight, but not unpleasant. An even briefer thought wondered if that slight ridge had always been there…

All thoughts began to swim away like a shoal of fish who had just seen the shark enter their waters - a fitting analogy for the hint of wicked teeth behind Haarlep’s lewd grin. Not that Raphael had even a chance to notice that detail, as his eyes finally fluttered shut, losing the battle with his will to face them as they tormented his body with countless pleasures. 

The grip around him was firm but yielding, the pressure varying with strokes that sought to bring the strongest sensations of overwrought nerves, leaving him shivering with the intensity. Any hint of embarrassment he may have felt about shouting his desire before - loud enough for half the house to hear - was completely devoured by the reward of their tail, slowly but surely finding the centre of pleasure inside him.

Even with his eyes closed he could see their face, his mind blurring their former appearance with the current, unable to make sense of much more than the storm of lust rushing through every part of his body that they touched through the bond. 

If upholstery could scream, the entire house would’ve echoed with the howls of fabric caught in cambion claws. Instead, the peace of the halls was disturbed by a long moan growing to a crescendo as Raphael finally gave himself over to pleasure’s final chorus. It was as if their bodies, in the link, had perfectly harmonised in a lustful cadence. —

Haarlep understood, now, how the cambion had struggled to hold back the day before. The intensity of the pleasure his body could bring forth was unlike most they had been with in the past, the rush almost making them lightheaded as they cascaded into bliss. Their tail thrummed at their nerves with a vibrating pulse as their hand sought to wring every drop of pleasure from both their own body and its mirrored double that had been reduced to a quivering mess. 

The incubus could not resist the urge to continue into overstimulation, biting their own lip as they watched the cambion tremble and moan. His body was drenched in sweat and his own release, hair falling in messy strands between proud horns that were a poor match for his almost pitiable expression as Haarlep finally ended their game. 

—

When Raphael opened his eyes, he noticed that the incubus had already cleaned themselves up, the soft cloths dropped neatly into the basket for whichever debtor had that duty. Not that it mattered much, though it made him feel even more dishevelled by comparison as cold reality seeped into his damp skin. 

Haarlep casually tossed him a clean cloth when they noticed he was beginning to recover. He couldn’t tell if it was boredom, or a care for the last shred of his tattered dignity, that had them turn away while he wiped down. They stood by the balcony door, wings draping behind them like a cloak, tail twitching behind them as they gazed out into the distance.

Once he was clean, curiosity tugged at Raphael’s legs and moved him to stand - still naked, and not entirely recovered - beside the incubus. “What are you looking for out there?” 

“I’m not certain.” They sounded quietly thoughtful, a stark contrast to the lustful and rowdy beast that had provoked him into playing their filthy games. “What is it that you see?” 

“Lava fields, rock, burning skies…” He reconsidered. This wasn’t what they were asking. “Potential. The Future.” 

“The future…” Haarlep echoed his words in his own voice, though somehow the syllables seemed to hold an entirely different meaning from their lips. “Power, then? A palace grander than any of the hells, and a throne befitting the one upon it, I presume?” They turned to face him now, the flicker green still lingering in their eyes. Or at least, it was when he looked at them.

“Maybe.” The cambion mused, his tail swishing languidly behind him as he thought it over. “Or perhaps this will remain the centre of my power. There is much to be done, of course, but I do not intend to leave it as an empty hovel floating through the hells. No, we shall make this the envy of all who are graced with the good fortune to step inside.” 

A hint of a wry smile began to play at the incubus’s lips once more, their tail coiling gently around his ankle. “We?”  

—

The unspoken thought that played in their mind, however, was that if they remained in this house then there was one room, the one where they would have power over the ruler of the hells… Their wings shivered with the thought. That would be a fine meal indeed.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Harlot.” The nickname, yet spoken without venom… Raphael didn’t even remove their tail from his leg. “Two contracts bind you here, and unless they are broken that means you will be here. And I see little point in spending my time and efforts building up a fortress to abandon it to sit on someone else’s empty throne.”

“Then you’ll make this the very seat of your power.” Haarlep turned towards the room, tail trailing up to his lower back with a gentle nudge to follow them. “Then I will help you build it.” 

“You hardly seem the type to work with masonry, nor to bury your head within the depths of infernal law and contracts beside your own.” He kept pace alongside them as they began to walk towards the healing pool. 

Haarlep noted, with some degree of surprise, how easily the cambion was keeping so close to them, their arms almost touching, his body heat palpable before they reached the water’s edge. “How little you think of me, or what it takes to build up all you need, that you would sell my skills so short and so swiftly.” They stepped into the pool, soothing water welcoming them as they waded in and sat, gesturing for Raphael to join them.

“What is it then? You’re offering more than your body?...My body…” He shook his head as if struggling to clear a particularly stubborn image from his mind. “What, pray tell, might that be?” 

“Connections, Raphael. I am quite adept at forming them, and not only that  - I can secure them for you.” They reached for the soaps as he sat beside them, again close enough they were touching. He could have sat further apart in the absurdly large baths, he could have even stayed out of the water, but there he was. He didn’t pull away when they moved to wash his hair, either. Interesting. “There is a lot more I could do with a body than sex. Although, that alone could be enough to cause quite the scandal, should you so wish.” 

“Blackmail and manipulation.” Raphael considered the terms, relaxing more under the gentle caress of crimson fingertips on his scalp. 

“More than that, should it be needed. A mortal would be less likely to keep their composure if I am making use of the link~ All I need is to have them agree to the deal in a way that grants me use of their form whenever I wish.” A low chuckle rumbled through them as they recalled a few past encounters. “People will easily underestimate the object of their desire offering them a night beyond their wildest dreams. The fine print, Raphael, is often left unread.” 

“And now I am almost led to sympathy for your conquests.” His laughter matched their own, body leaning back against their shoulder. “Though they do get what they ask for in the end.”

“A lesson that took you long enough to learn.” They moved from his hair to his shoulders, lathering the scented soap on his skin. “For all your fight, was it truly so distasteful?” 

“...no.” His answer was as quiet as the movement beneath the water as the tip of his tail curled around theirs. “Then you do not object to our continued partnership?” Haarlep’s question now came as a whisper at the back of his head as they wrapped their arms around him. They could have cleaned his body in a far less intimate way, but seeing the often irate devil soften in the aftermath of bliss? It might not last long. But it could, at least, be savoured. “I have no intention of ending our deal.” He murmured, relaxing back further against their chest. “There may be…benefits I had not expected.” 

“Indeed.” Their reply was almost a chaste kiss, a single word holding a heavier weight than the simple syllables of its form.

— --- --- ENDING NOTES --- ---

The cliffhanger resolved, and Raphael finally got what he wanted...when he learned to ask for it. Perhaps in some ways, both got a little more than they expected this time, and they still haven't slept together since the deal was made!

Plenty more of Haarlep's deeper backstory to find, too, I'm just leaving you a little trail of angsty breadcrumbs as they try to find their place in the hells and learn what that might mean for their future and the reconciliation of their past.

As always, I am grateful to those who leave any feedback or interactions here, Discord, Twitter, or AO3 - I'm glad you're joining me on this journey through the past with our favourite fiends~

[mak3itr7ght]

Pair : Jeong Hoseok x fm!reader (Pirates of the Caribbean AU)

Words count: 2197

Warnings: mention of death by drowning, MANY SPOILERS about the movies.

Author's note: This is from a whole story I wrote months ago🫶 hope you'll enjoy it~ Happy birthday to our sunshine💚

For a better experience listen to this one, you won't regret it🤭

Y/n managed to stop the phantom crew on time. She observed Jack and Elizabeth escaping through a rope. The duo has been threw up at sea and rescued by the Black Pearl's crew.

Y/n smiled in relief knowing that her friends would be safe. They would end up beating Beckett as well, now that Jones was out of the games.

Finally, Hoseok's death was avenged and his soul could have left the chest and rest in peace and with it, Angie's too.

The girl leaned against the dirty main mast of the Flying Dutchman, the crew was surrounding Will's body, from which they were taking out the heart.

"The Dutchman must have a captain" that was the rule, after all.

Y/n felt her body heavy. She was wounded, not seriously. She was tired, though, mentally. She couldn't andle anymore a life without her lover. The only thing that kept her alive was have revenge, and she got it. Then, there was no other reason to be alive.

The young woman felt the coarse and cold wood against her shoulders' blades, through her blouse's delicate fabric. She gave her red jacket to Jack, asking him to take it back on the Pandora (Hoseok's ship) and leave it there, in his cabin, where it belonged to.

She let herself sliding down the wooden surface, sitting on the deck. The ship was sinking in the ocean, the crew would survived, it was part of their curse, and so would Will, who became one of them. But she wouldn't. Y/N was still human, and she chose the best way to die. Her life, sweetly took away by the water, which accompanied her day and night in the last four years.

She felt her body under the water, her hair floating above her head, the air leaving her longs, replaced with water, a tear escaped from her left eye, dispersing and blending into the blue.

She felt the sun's warmth getting distant, along with its light

Which could hardly reflect on the girl's pupils which she kept wide open even if the salty water made them burn. She wanted to admire the ocean for one last time.

Her life flowed before her eyes, savoring the most beautiful moments she had with her friends, and the small time she had with Hoseok before his death.

She didn't move even if she was suffering, she kept her composure animated by the thought of seeing him again, finally, and then dark, no sound, no perception, the mind disconnecting from the body. An eternal moment.

The sound of the waves spread again in the air, the sun's rays hitting the wet skin, stimulating the young woman's senses. Y/N opened her eyes again, slowly, taking a deep breath, she couldnt understand why she was still breathing. She felt knockles brushing against her cheek and her head resting on someone's lap. She looked up, spotting a shape, the sun shining right behind it.

'Hey'

That voice so familiar, sounded like a melody. Y/n smiled in response.

'I made it' She said in a whisper.

Hoseok kept caressing her face while admiring her with pure love and a sweet smile decorating his asian features. He was wearing a white bluse, white pants, no shoes, his hair were longer, slightly wavy, moved gently by the breeze, his skin, tanned reflecting perfectly the sun's light, his dark eyes that, even in backlight, sparkled.

He looked like an angel, he was an angel, no one could believe that, during his life on Earth, he was the fiercest pirate of the seven seas.

Y/n relaxed all her muscles in that moment, enjoying his touch and the sight.

She extended one hand to move a stread of hair from his eyes and, reluctantly, sat back up,

'I never doubted about that' He whispered calmly, while wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her in his embrance.

Y/n could finally dig her fingers in those soft dark hair, smelling his scent of soap and saltiness on his smooth, golden skin. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, leaving some kisses, while holding him tighter. She had no intention of leaving him anymore.

Hoseok did the same, leaving some kisses on her head while a hand stroked softly her back, the other her wet hair. The couple stayed like that for what seemed hours, didn't care anymore about time. They were in the other world, after all, there was no hurry anymore.

The man's expression darkened slightly, while pulling back. He kept holding her face in his hands, observing her, admiring each feature of hers.

'Come with me' He breathed. She nodded in silence.

'We're in the other world. I wonder how it works here..last time he came here I was still alive' she added, chuckling.

'Vieni con me' Disse ad un tratto. Y/n annuì.

Hoseok smiled, amused.

The two walked along the shore, hand in hand. They stayed silent most of the time. The white sand curshing against the waves' foam. The wind moved the tropical plants' leaves, which signed the edge that separated the beach with the island's heart.

They reached the top of a cliff.

Y/n looked out to enjoy the panorama before turning towards her lover, the wind messing up her hair.

'We're free, finally' She smiled broadly.

Hoseok smiled back and got a step closer. His eyes teary and Y/n got the feeling that those tears weren't about joy, but something else. Her smile faded.

'What is it?' She tilted her head.

'You had a task...when you were alive' He started.

'Yes, get a revenge for your death, take your place as a guardian, nominated by the Brethren court and protect everyone. I did it all' She pointed out, raising a brow, wondering why he chose to talk still about that topic.

'I sacrifaced myself to save Jack as well, according to the Code, the title now belongs to another pirate that will be chosen in the court. It'over. We don't have to worry about that anymore, Hoseok' she added, taking his hands and squeezing them.

The man shook her head. "It's not over, Y/n' he corrected.

'W-what the hell do you mean by that?' The girl felt agitation increasing in her body, she couldn't believe that, even if she was dead, she could feel those sensations.

Hoseok scosse la testa. 'Non é finita, Y/n' Corresse.

'You have to protect the seven seas, yes, that's your duty, your time to die hasn't come yet. I can't let you die like this just for our selfishness..' He explained.

'But...but-' She stepped back, loosening the grip on his hands to run a hand through her hair in frustration.

'I don’t understand, Hoseok. When we came in the chest to rescue Jack, you told me that, once I finished the task, we could have been together. That's what made me return in that shitty world again and not remaning in the chest with you!' She shouted. She felt her nose itching, her "heartbeat" accelerating, her stomach burning.

Hoseok got closer to her and rested his forehead against hers.

'Your duty was to protect the sea' He pointed out.

'No. It isn't... I died. I protected the pirate lord i had to protect. The Code speaks-' She objected.

'You had the chance to escape the Dutchman, you chose to die on purpose to be here. It doesn't count' He stated, his voice trembling.

'Listen I don't want you to go' he hesitated, feeling his throat hurting. 'But your destiny is already written, if you don't comeback there, there will be chaos and death' He explained. 'I saw things, Y/n. I saw bed things happening in a world without you, and good things in a world with you' He kept speaking not caring anymore about the tears streaming down his cheeks.

She cried in silence, looking down and listening to him.

'I'll be here, waiting for you, for eternity. I'll guide you, as i always did. As i did when i had to bring you in Davy Jones' chest, as i did taking you to Isla de caja, making you meet my crew... just promise-' he hesitated again. 'Promise me that you'll be happy, that you'll live at the fullest' Desperation in his voice, he was internally fighting against his own wishes and the great good.

Y/n started sobbing louder. 'That's not fair' She cried out.

'We will meet again. You know that my heart is yours' Hoseok leaned in to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

She cupped his face pulling him towards her. Their lips meeting with a certain range, without the intention to break that moment. The girl let her finger bury in his hair while the contact intensified.

She was the one who pulled back first, grudgingly, but she knew that she had to do it otherwise she would send everyone to fuck themselves and let her selfishness win. She admired his features once again, her eyes travelling along his beautiful almond-shaped eyes, his perfect pointy nouse, his heart-shaped lips slightly parted to regain the lost oxygen.

Y/n felt more alive there, by his side, in the overworld, then among the living people, living a life that she didn't even felt like hers anymore, that she had to chose in order to rescue Hoseok, at the beginning of the Journey, and, after losing him in front of her eyes, to get her revenge, escaping from the remorse that she was unable to save him.

She must live, something or someone above them decided that and there were no ways to escape that fate. Both Y/n and Hoseok had to accept it. One thing was sure, it wasn't a goodbye.

'Once you'll be on the Pandora, look in my cabin, at the desk's drawers, especially the last one, there is a double bottom. You'll find something useful. Wear my jacket, my hat, fight with my sword, be the captain of my crew, sail with my ship, protect the Code, the pirate lord you've been assigned to and live, live for me, for yourself, for us' Hoseok said with a more serious but still soft tone, like he was commanding her to do that.

He smiled after that, trying to reassure her. She forced herself to smile back

'That bloody smile of yours' She whispered.

'It will be the reason I'll wake up every morning' She stated, taking his hand and placing it on her chest. 'This heart will restart beating only for you' she eventually kissed the back of his hand.

The man brushed the knuckles of that same hand against her cheekbone, wiping her tears. He felt a pang in his stomach and he was cursing, in his mind, against whoever decided to take her away from him. He didn't want her to go. She was his everything. He felt the burden to be reason why she suffered this much, for lying about his identity, for being murdered this stupidly, for falling for her this hard.

Hoseok tried to kick off those damned thoughts, cupping her face and leaning in again for another kiss. A soft kiss filled with the sourest desperation.

They pulled back, staring into each others eyes. The wind got stronger, the waves got angrier, impersonating the couple's repressed feelings.

'Now go'

'Wait-'

He pushed her from the cliff. His face got pale, feeling his heart sank, he felt like he died once again, in that moment.

'Keep your eyes on the stars' He mouthed to her while she was falling. She felt the whole fall in slow-mo, she gently closes eyes while gaining consciousness about the situation, getting ready for the impact. The ocean was about to welcome her once again. Her back hit the water, the rest of her body following.

A blinding flash hit her closed eyelids, a weight on her chest made her jump on her feet, making her threw up tons of water that freed her lungs. The girl looked around, confused, gripping a wooden surface. She looked out. The entire English navy's float was there, before her eyes. The black pearl beside the Endeavour, Beckett's ship. Y/n widened her eyes at the view. The cold wind moving her bluse like the sail of a ship, her wet hair falling heavily over her shoulders.

Instinctively she looked up at the sky, the clouds fading, letting the weak sun's rays to penetrate through them, she lingered there, as she knew that he was watching her. She nodded to herself and looked down. The ruined and humid deck of the Flying Dutchman beneath her, and a familiar voice shouting orders coming from the steering wheel. It was Will, her dearest friend, he was alive, christened as the new captain of the ship, bearer of his predecessor's curse. Y/n realized she was on the crow's nest, noticing that, next to her, there were her bow and two arrows. The young woman smiled looking above again and once her look fell on the Endeavour it was filled with range and fury. She got a task, a battle to win, friends to protect, a ship to take care of, a new life to start.

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Phantom of the Opera: 25th Anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall

Live Commentary (feat @l10ng1rl highlighted in blue)

I do know that there were restrictions placed by the venue and the fact that it was televised but that's not gonna stop me from commenting on how lame they are.

Also **spoilers** we hate on Hadley Fraser's Raoul a lot in here. I know that much of this may not actually be Hadely Fraser's fault: the direction also has to be considered. This did come out a year after Love Never Dies premiered, and Raoul's character there is less than princely. It occurs to me that this may have impacted the direction/interpretation of his character here. Or not, who knows? All this to say, we're not actually hating on Hadley here, just this particular execution of the character. But also if you like this particular Raoul (not just Hadley Fraser), please do tell me why, I would be fascinated to know.

- Not me watching the 25th anniversary and being very sad that Earl Carpenter is in it and not as the Phantom

- Oh no! NINETEEN SEASONS? NINETEEN? they really dumped it on Carlotta here didn't they?

- I miss the elephant

- Madame Giry is Uber creepy here

- oh i see why you hate this Raoul

- I'm so glad I'm not the only one hating that Raoul 🤣🤣🤣

- I'm proud to announce that @l10ng1rl and I are founding the official Hadley Fraser as Raoul Haters Club

- They couldn't have done a regular dressing room set?

- "CHRISTINE DAAÉ! Where iiiis your red Skhhhafff?"

- Fucking hell he looks at her like she's something to eat

- Yeah no Hadely Fraser's Raoul is disgusting. He's got rape face I hate it

- I can't with this LED screen mirror

- Sierra's vibrato is really amazing. And I'm not gonna say she's the best Christine, like, ever, but that high-note is really chilling.

- RING! CLEAR RING SHOT! OMALAWD

- Ooh damn she cross-eyed

- "Music shall surround you

Hear it, feel it

Closing in around you"

I was warned about this, but I cannot believe how unpoetic this is. Go back to caress/possess, you cowards!

- Ok I do like when a phantom has to scramble a little to cover her with the cloak he's so cute

- WHY IS HE NOT IN HIS CAP AND GOWN? How is a banyan going to hurt the Albert Hall?!

- OOF HE GRABBED HER THROAT OH MY GOSH

- AND THEN HE THROWS HER! ERIK! BAD! BAD PHANTOM!

- Raoul may not have been with Christine that night be he was defo planning on it based on the way he was looking at her in that dressing room 😖🤮

- look everyone knows Raoul de Chagny is my punching bag, and I love nothing more than stepping on him, but This is not a Raoul for me to even step on, I wouldn't want to soil my shoes with his slimy self

- I appreciate when a phantom keeps the tune instead of *just* screaming at Christine. That so rarely happens.

- Ooh damn that "Burns in hell" went right down my spine

- Why is Firmin drunk? He's supposed to be drunk right

- I declare, I have NEVER seen Raoul played like this, WTF. He's so impertinent! What is this attitude? Where is the indignation in his "Of course not!"?

- This guy? I can totally see this guy gambling away his fortune and getting lost in the bottom of a whisky bottle

- Why am I so obsessed with this damn ring? I have a problem

- YEEEAARRRHHHH SHE'S SINGING TO BRING DOWN THE CHANDELIER!!!!!!

- this is the best croak

- Oh how deliciously homicidal! 😍 I love when wet get to see the murrrderrr

- This Raoul would have thrown her in a loony bin within five years

- *Oh jeez is she gonna start fucking crying? Ugh stupid hysterical women.* "alright come here, there, there it's alright " *rolling eyes* --Raoul's inner monologue

- RUN CHRISTINE! He's got the pong of marital rape about him

- No oh my gosh this Raoul fits how he's characterized in The Phantom's Atonement (@madamedestler) to a tee

- Patrick really is like an innocent schoolboy compared to this guy

- I've always loved the fact that the line that really sets Erik off on the rooftop is

"Share each day with me/each night each morning" That's the part where he goes from sad to angry

- Also also also I think it's precious that Erik assumes Raoul would fall in love with Christine for the same reasons he did. Because he's got ADHD brain he's like "how could anyone not be enraptured by her voice like I am ~.~"

When in reality Raoul's just going after her because he's already got an in

- I forgot that they don't actually drop the chandelier. They threw in the bring down the chandelier line and the chandelier doesn't even come down 🤣🤣🤣

- And NO ring snatch 😡😡

- I will NEVER GET OVER

Raoul: You don't have to Christine, they can't make you!

Also Raoul: they can't make you, but I can guilt you into it!" Fuck you buddy

- Fuck you Raoul! 🤣😂. I think you wouldn't feel a grain of regret to step on this Raoul without mercy

- Again, wouldn't even step on him. He'd get my shoes dirty. Being stepped on is for decent Raoul's who can be salvaged

- I am so, so digging these close up shots of Erik putting his hands all over her during ponr. Because Ramin's Erik so rarely actually lets himself touch Christine. So then when you get to PONR he just indulges himself a bit. And good for him

- I love the gentle, soft, touchy side of Ramin's Erik

- Can I have this ring custom made? How much would that cost? I want it so bad! I wanna wear it all the time and pretend I'm married to Erik ~sways back and forth~

I'm kidding, but I do want that ring

- I love/hate whenever a Phantom plays PONR visibly, forcefully horny during Christine's part in PONR because I looooove horny Erik but I feel so so bad for him because I know what's coming (and it's very sadly not him)

- OH! HE GROWWWLED! OH MY GOSH! HELP! He's got me. Ok he's got me.

- Uhuuu he's still growling oh my gooooooohhh

- I love what it says about Christine as a singer, actress, performer that even when she's *running away, struggling against him* she's still performing the play. I've just identified my stalker as being on stage with me but THE SHOW MUST GO ON! And honestly I love her for that

- Love how there's no grate so they have to have Erik hold her throat again so Raoul has a reason to sing "Free her!" As if Erik would ever put his hands on her throat in anger. And risk damaging her vocal chords? I don't think so

- yeah, that much neck grabbing I think it was unnecessary,and I also think that Erik would never do it. He would never harm her.

- The "Did you think that I would harm her?" line is harder to justify here. Which irks me because it makes me so weak every time I hear it

- Every time I watch the graveyard and the final lair I just want Christine to turn around and tell Raoul to shut up.

- Oh no! his eyes when she says "tears of hate"... aww baby

- I will never stop hating that she's calls him "pitiful creature"

- Yeah, with that "pitiful creature" she really thrusted the knife in his gut and twisted it

- Sierra is such a champ throughout this scene

- She is one of the very few Christines that is actually sorry and conflicted to leave Erik behind, not as her father figure, but as her other love interest. At least she is one of the few that can credibly convince me so

- I just cackled very loudly

- What made you cackle? Lol

- Raoul's face. When she kisses Erik. He looks like he would actually rather die than see her kiss Erik. This is almost as good as watching His face during ponr in the movie.

- 😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤭🤭🥴🥴🥴 that one takes the prize!! He just reminds me of Sam the Eagle from the Muppets here

- Oh poor thing, he really had no self esteem at all

- YES GIRL. SOB.

- Ok OK ok

She starts singing All I ask of you

THEN Raoul appears

Was she actually singing that to Raoul?

- Oh yes, you got it! Was it for him? Hehehe, I don't think so

- Ugh she is on the knife edge right to the very last second

- Completely! Sierra is very believable in this scene

- Go AWAY Raoul! Let her stay with him, you're gonna regret this so badly son. She'll never love you the same, and you'll never have kids either. Just go hold off the mob so they can get away

- Gillian Lynne, MVP ever and always

- I love seeing Sarah and Michael together

They just make me smile

- Ok so we've got joj, colm Wilkinson (werrrr, not my favorite Phantom but I have to respect him), who else?

- ANTHONY! YASS!

- Oh thank goodness they let John take the high note

- JOJ AND ANTHONY WARLOW SINGING IN UNISON IS NOT A PROBLEM FOR ME AT ALL. NOT TWO OF MY TOP 5 TOGETHER.

- I wonder why they didn't ask Earl to join them at the end.

- WHY DID TO SAY THAT I'M GONNA BE MAD NOW. I COULD HAVE THREE OF MY TOP FIVE

- I've always been tickled that Sarah never could shake the British thing where they can't say a word ending in "a" without putting an r on the end. Operar.

- UGHHH JOHN'S EYES! He's so in-character during MOTN. He's got so much emoshuns.

- I, too, now have emoshuns.

[ponds-of-ink]

Exclusive A Descent Into Cacophony Preview: The Un-Cloaking

Potential spoilers ahead for a future chapter in A Descent Into Cacophony, even though I’m sure I’ll make a few changes by the time I get to the real thing.

This is really just a very rough draft of something I’ve had in my head for ages, and I wanted to finally get it out there.

Now sit back, relax, and get ready. This is gonna be a ride..

You sat down on the couch. You would’ve gotten comfy, but the hushed whispers between the two actors made you lean forward. Your heart thumped even more than when you got ready for your own rehearsal.

And why wouldn’t it? Not only was this Scraptrap’s “final exam” for his singing lessons, but it was also the moment these past few weeks have led up to: His face reveal. A face reveal he willingly agreed to, which made this even better.

A shame that it had to be the day before he had to leave, but that didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was that this performance went off without a hitch.

Heather re-emerged first, now wearing a rosy-red dress. Your eyes followed her as she made her way to the piano bench. She gave you a warm grin before settling into a somber expression. Her fingers lightly touched the piano keys, bouncing from note to note as she double-checked her sheet music. Then, when all was set, she warmed up with a different tune.

Meanwhile, Scraptrap entered the main foyer. His posture conveyed a confident air as he took his place on the stairs. He seemed to not notice you at first, but a glance in your direction proved otherwise. “He’s definitely getting into character,” you thought as you leaned back in your seat. “That’s the exact way he’d posture himself when bluffing on those tapes.”

And you were right to think that. For as soon as the warmup finished, Scraptrap’s scratchy voice thundered out the first few notes of their song. He descended the staircase as if he were a boastful vampire ready to strike his next victim. Meanwhile, Heather remained unfazed as she played the orchestra’s score (albeit in a lower key to better suit his range).

Scraptrap brushed past you and sauntered to Heather’s side. He loomed over as he continued to relay The Phantom of the Opera’s pretend advances towards Christine. His voice trembled a little on a few of the words, but you chalked that up to anxiety about the whole hood thing.

Still, they both soldiered on. Scraptrap finished his verse and sat down beside Heather. Silence fell as Heather stopped playing. She glanced over her shoulder, gave him a mildly annoyed stare, then resumed her pianist duties. This time, it was her turn to once again play Christine... Except now she was both singer and conductor, which made her choreography much “colder” than usual.

Well, until she reached Christine’s final stanza. Then she switched from reciting the score with both hands to just one– All to caress Scraptrap’s cloaked face with her free hand. While they made eye contact, no less.

With an air of mock distain, Scraptrap moved her hand away and got up from the bench. Heather got up and joined him, leaving only their voices to carry out the final part of the duet. Your mind filled in the gaps as your heart raced. This was it. As soon as they finished, the hood would be lowered. Just like in the musical.

You crossed your fingers.

Scraptrap braced.

Heather finished the stanza for him.

Both of the actors lowered the hood together..

..You felt your stomach drop even harder than it did the first time you saw him. You weren’t even sure where to focus. Were you supposed to look away from the huge, “skull”-exposing gash? Was it better to look into those funky gradient eyeballs now trembling in fear? Would trying to figure out what he was muttering through those mismatched buck teeth help?

You battled your nausea as you eyed your friends’ expressions closely. Scraptrap, though clearly terrified, was frozen stiff. Heather, meanwhile, was murmuring apologies with misty eyes. “I.. didn’t mean to...” you caught her trying to sputter. “I... had n-no idea, I—“

A strange mix of curiosity and the urge to comfort overrode your horror. You slowly rose to your feet. With a trembling hand, you approached the rabbit and reached out to his face. Almost as if Henry’s over-curious nature had invaded your still-processing mind.

You could see Scraptrap’s uneven eyelids raise as you mimed Heather’s caress from earlier. Your ears caught the rattle of his metal bones as he shivered. “No,” he muttered, backing away from your puzzled movements. “No, no, no, I’m—“

You watched as Scraptrap lifted his hood back up and scurried into Heather’s bedroom. The door slammed shut, jolting you back into proper reality. Your heart sank. All this progress now back to square one, and (seemingly) with good reason.

Your eyes drifted over to Heather. Her tear-filled eyes told all.

You sighed deeply. “Give him a few minutes,” you advised in a gentle tone. “Then let him know that I’m coming in to talk.”

At least you didn’t hear any crying from him this time.

[pyrrhicraven]

Can we get some sneak-peeks for the upcoming chapters of your fics?

I'm more than glad to share! But warning it's like looking down a mountainside and realizing just how far up you are 😂

WARNING: Spoilers ahead, and an avalanche of words 🤣

Never Be Your King (Danny Phantom) Chapter 5

“How did she meet a Dan then?” Clockwork let out a breath, tail curling around the leg of the chair he was sitting in.

“We were bound together, or rather she was bound to a small portion of myself…To become the Lady Cloaked in Time.” Vlad felt his brows jump upwards.

Last Knight Chapter 13

A cold wind cut through the dark streets of New York, an eerie howl through dirty streets. The kind of thing that people pulled their coats closer and walked just a little quicker, and Raphael had missed it like a thorn in the side. Not to say it wasn’t nice to be back home, but with so much that needed to be tied up, it was going to be a chore being back for the foreseeable future.

The Devils Trap Chapter 9

His face warmed as he thought about all the things Daisy had said to him about wooing his husband and he was not about to do that at all! Luigi was not in love with Boo, and he doubted that would ever happen with the way Boo had tricked him.

Unintended Chapter 20

It was a nightmare he’d never expected to deal with, he thought he was going to be the only one in the family and now…Now Jazz was like him which meant their parents were going to disown Jazz too. It made him feel like it was all his fault even though he knew it wasn’t his fault for what her roommates did, he still couldn’t believe someone other than his parents or Vlad had managed to make a proto-portal…

Brooklyn Bros Chapter 15

“I think we’ve been walking in a circle, are you lost?” Bowser grumbled and Mario rolled his eyes.

“Not lost, think we’re being followed though-somethings wrong right now and I can’t put my finger on what it is.” Bowser frowned as he looked down at Mario who only felt a chill of dread skim down his back. They paused at the intersection they had been at already to find that it had changed.

Angel Shrine Chapter Ten

Marinette squirmed in her seat, this was really the last thing she wanted to do but at the same time she was happy that Gabriel had wanted her here and that Nathalie hadn’t been mad or mean to her. The only one acting like a Jerk right now was Adrien and she couldn’t blame him for a second really…

Savage Chapter Six

Vlad wasn’t sure if he should be mortified or pleased with himself for having had such an amazing time with both Clockwork and Pariah and what the hell was even happening here, because having both of them basically say they were trying to court him was insanity at its finest because he was certainly no catch. Hell, Daniel was going to laugh his ass off the moment he found out…

Pac-Man Chapter 15

Saki paused at the mouth of the hallway, he’d almost walked out into the living room but noticed at the last second someone sitting at the bar, Donatello would have noticed anyone entering the room, but continued drinking like he had no worries about his back being to the hallway. Inhaling, he moved into the open and around the bar, making himself a drink and then putting his hands on either side of the glass, the bar top cool against his suddenly warm hands.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t kill me.” He muttered and Donatello chuckled, those burnt honey-colored eyes alit with mischievous delight.

Blind and Frozen Chapter 19

Ahsoka could feel the others in the force, it didn’t help the dread dwelling in her gut as she moved the chunks of the building that had fallen on her. She’d never experienced anything like that before and honestly, she doubted she’d see anything else like it again. Maul lay not far from her half covered and unconscious. Blood pooling from a cut on his forehead, rubble moved and Voss huffed before coughing his lungs out, she wondered where the others landed-hopefully Maul was the worst of the injuries.

A Phantom Caress Chapter 18

Watching the man heal wasn't something Clockwork had prepared himself for, knowing what he did. Was this truly the right path? He had so many branches from this point in time and having them go back to fix a mistake he'd made...

Yes, mistakes were made but this was going to be better in the long run. Now to make sure the world didn't end in a wreath of fire...

[mmanjirous]

SCARS ⸺ various.

featuring: monkey d. luffy, sabo and roronoa zoro.

genre: fluff, minor angst with luffy's bit.

synopsis: his scars & response to them being touched.

warning: very slight marineford spoilers, read with caution!

some nights, luffy suffers from phantom pains. those are the same nights he dreams of ace, screaming and reaching out for his ever so distant silhouette. the foul stench of charred flesh in the air, invading his lungs ... he'll cry into your arms those nights. given the highest form of trust, he'll allow you to trace your fingers over the rough and risen skin along his chest. it hurts, but luffy finds it to be a little more bearable when you do such an action. he'll tuck his nose deeply into the crevice of your neck, tears soaking your skin, whispers of ace's name dying on his tongue. he'll fall asleep like that, legs tangled with yours, your gentle ministrations bringing him ease.

unlike a certain brother of his, he doesn't go parading around his scars. it's not like he's ashamed or shy of them ー most of them are simply often hidden by his garments, with the exception of the persistent burn mark surrounding his left eye. sabo would be the slightest surprised at your fascination towards it, but unafraid to explain the circumstances of how he received it (without giving out any main details) "does it ever hurt?" you'd ask and he'd simply give a small smile, settling a gloved hand over yours, guiding it to the scar, "not anymore." sabo would reply moments later, allowing you to explore it 'til your hearts content. and if you catch him keening into your touch, it's best you keep it to yourself.

zoro has a plethora of scars, all of which tells a different story. he doesn't quite understand your initial interest in them, but allows you to indulge anyways. weak attempts in trying to avoid eye contact when you cup his face, caressing the scar at his eye, barely noticeable inhales when you gently prod at the long scar across his torso .. zoro tries to hide it but the truth is he's extremely weak to those displays of affection. it's obvious though, when you easily catch the slight lift of his lips ー and the softening of his single working eye.

2022 © mmanjirous.

[lovelyrots]

Home

Dabi x fem!Reader

Okay I need a break from Izuku because I think I can smell smoke every time I try to sit down and write Forced Matrimony so here’s something soft with Dabi to change things up until the green demon is writable again.

Content Warnings - short and sweet, twinge of angst, some Dabi spoilers (if you don’t already know)

“Ya come here often?” Rolling your eyes you look behind you, seeing your boyfriend leaning on the kitchen counter. “Well, seeing as it’s my apartment, yes I do.” The two of you chuckle as he drapes his arms around you, swaying to some unknown song. “Hm someone’s in a happy mood.” You remark as you place your hands over his, fingers intwining gently.

“What do you mean? I’m always in a good mood around you.” “True, buuuttt you only want to dance when you’re in a happy mood. So want to tell me? Or should I guess?” He spins you around to face him as the two of you keep swaying to a phantom melody. “You can guess, you won’t get it but I like seeing your lips move anyway.” With a smirk you leave a light peck on his lips before you hum, contemplating what could have made him so happy.

“Did Tomura lose a tournament?” He shakes his head and lets his hands trail down your back to rest on your hips. “Hm, you burnt a shipment of Endeavor merch?” He chuckles but shakes his head again and you pout. “Okay then did you beat a hero and give your speech about how heroes are overrated and blah blah blah?” You squeak when he pinches your ass but can’t help but giggle after. “Nope, you done guessing?”

“Fine, will you tell me what has you, the great Dabi, in such a great mood?” “I came to a realization while I was out.” “I wonder what that realization could be.” “Shh, I came to the realization that we have been together for almost seven years.” “And that’s what made you so happy?” You ask him as he lifts you up onto the counter, caging you in.

“No, it’s what I thought of after that. You’ve been there for me no matter what. The news labels me as a ‘dangerous and psychotic villain’? You welcome me home with a mug of hot chocolate. I came out to everyone as Endeavor’s formerly dead kid and you treat me like one of the characters from your fanfics.” You lean into his patchwork palm as he caresses your face, a soft smile on your lips.

“I’ve had a shitty life, but I wouldn’t change a thing if it meant I never met you.” Your smile grows as he plants kiss after kiss on your face, avoiding your lips until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. “Even though you ran away from me when we first met?” You bring up as the memories resurface.

You had been seventeen and were walking home from a night shift at your local convenience store when some thug tried to mug you before being swallowed up by blue flames. When you turned to run from the burnt man, you had come face to face with a white haired teen with stitches on his face. He told you to be more careful and tried to leave, but you stopped him and begged him to walk you the rest of the way. He shook you off and ran from you, but you noticed over the next few days when you had a late shift, someone with white hair always followed you until you reached your house.

“Well, I had just turned a creep into charcoal in front of you. Can’t blame a guy for running.” “Mm no, I can’t blame you. I’d run too if some gorgeous guy had asked me to walk him home after I saved him.” You peck his lips again and lean your head on his shoulder as the two of you sit there in silence.

“Thank you for always welcoming me home.” He whispers, barely heard over the sound of the air conditioning. “Thank you for always trying to come home.”